Edelweiss
by Toraptor
Summary: [Sequel to Lotus] Something was different, something had changed; Hogwarts wasn't the same. A voice whispered in the back of Sephiroth's head, but the door to all the answers remained chained shut. And the only one with the knowledge to open it wasn't talking. Sephiroth's second year at Hogwarts starts out with a warning of darker times ahead.
1. Chapter 1

01

Sephiroth and Harry ruled with iron fists.

At least, that was what they would like to say. The truth was that they also sort of relied on the Dursley family for food, clothing, and a roof to sleep on, so they couldn't take their tyranny too far. Still, it was a welcome change to no longer have to feel completely repressed.

For years, it had been part of their dearest hobbies to sit and envision what it would be like, the Dursleys at Sephiroth and Harry's beck and call for once in their lives. Instead of being the ones to cook and clean and cater to their every whim, they would would have liked to imagine the roles reversed. Until nearly a year ago, that dream would have been impossible to come true. That was before they realized their were wizards, and suddenly the pecking order experienced a large and sudden shift. (Oh, they still had to do chores, but it was fun watching the Dursleys _squirm_ when they dragged their feet doing so).

They didn't push things too far, though. No matter how terrified Petunia was of them, Sephiroth had a feeling she would get over it quickly if he actually went and woke her up at two in the morning, asking for a sandwich. That wasn't to say it wasn't tempting, but Sephiroth liked having a house to live in, and they were very capable of telling Harry and him to pack. So he would humor himself by picturing Vernon's face if he was to threaten him into doing the gardening in the middle of the day. They also didn't want to ruin their newfound freedom with the guilt that they were becoming even worse than the Dursleys.

But if Sephiroth prodded Dudley with his wand every now and then, well—he remembered a time Dudley had filled a cup with muddy water and tried to force-feed it to him.

Unfortunately, playing servant was so ingrained into him that he would sometimes go on autopilot. It wasn't until he had already stumbled down the stairs, half-awake and bleary-eyed, cooked breakfast and set the table, that he remembered he no longer needed to. The Dursleys would spend the rest of those particular mornings edging away from him as he fumed silently. Conditioning was a hard thing to break out of, especially considering the sole reason for his existence for the first couple years of his life was to cook and clean for the Dursleys. It was a shared sorrow, because Harry would occasionally find himself scrubbing the dishes without being asked.

Sephiroth only hoped that Vernon and Petunia wouldn't catch on to the fact neither of them could actually use magic outside of the school. If the Dursleys ever did find out their fear had been a meaningless one, he had a feeling their lives would take a dramatic turn for the worse. They would want to make up for nearly a month of fear over nothing, and Sephiroth wasn't keen on sleeping in the cupboard again. He had been using a cot, pushed against one of the walls in Harry's room.

Maybe if it had been just one of them with the Dursleys, even with the threat of magic, things would have been different. There was strength in numbers, after all, and two wizards, as opposed to one, outnumbered three Muggles by a long shot. Even so, Vernon had scrounged up every bit of fury-fueled courage he possessed and stared the two of them down one morning, his puffy face an interesting shade of vermilion.

Sephiroth stopped short when he noticed the man in front of them, wracking his brain in an attempt to remember what might have caused his ire. When he looked to Harry for help, he received a similarly bewildered expression.

"Yes?" asked Sephiroth.

"Today is a very important day," Vernon prefaced, and Sephiroth instantly zoned out.

Now that he thought about it, Harry's birthday was today. He would be turning twelve years old, but Sephiroth highly doubted that was the reason for Vernon's burst of courage. Celebrating Harry's birthday would be the very last thing Vernon would qualify as "very important," no matter what the circumstances. Sephiroth doubted Vernon even knew it was Harry's birthday. Harry also looked incredibly skeptical of whatever his uncle was speaking about and its importance.

"I will be sealing a career-making deal today," said Vernon, slowly pronouncing each word as if they were of subhuman intelligence. "And I _don't_ want you two messing it up with your—your freakishness!"

"Way to pitch a sale," grumbled Sephiroth, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"I need you and . . ." Vernon glanced at Sephiroth—something he didn't like doing, as if Sephiroth's brand of abnormality was contagious by mere eye-contact. "Both of you need to stay out of sight while they're here."

"Just for this afternoon?" said Harry.

Vernon nodded stiffly.

"You'll need to eat early and head up to your room," said Petunia with a strained, painfully fake smile.

Sephiroth would rather she didn't try. When she looked at Harry, her face would twitch and she'd look as though it was physically difficult to acknowledge him. It was worse with Sephiroth—she wouldn't look at him, plain and simple, and sometimes he felt invisible. (It wasn't a good feeling).

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Vernon—and Sephiroth wondered since when there was a schedule at all—taking a little heart when neither of the household wizards threatened him with magic.

One might think they flaunted their powers all the time, with the way the Dursleys reacted to their presence. They must have thought the victimized glares and expressions would have made Sephiroth and Harry somehow feel less human, or something like that. Really, all Harry did was wiggle his fingers a bit and chant a couple nonsensical words. And Sephiroth might have cracked the table a little. It was just that the Dursleys were so terrified of anything outside their minds' small range of normal, they would give it a wide berth. They didn't think for a second of calling Sephiroth and Harry on their bluffs. Suggestion was a powerful thing.

"Petunia, if you will—?"

"I will be in the lounge," said Petunia on queue, taking two sweeping steps to bring her closer to the door, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good," said Vernon, nodding approvingly. He turned to Dudley (Sephiroth and Harry were watching with a kind of mortified curiosity). "And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door," said Dudley, trying very hard to sound important. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

Sephiroth felt himself die a little on the inside, observing Dudley's sickly grin.

"They'll love him!" Petunia had legitimate tears in her eyes—the pride she had for her son soaring higher than ever.

"I can't take much more of this," said Sephiroth.

Vernon finally turned to them.

"And you two?"

"We'll be as far away from . . . _this_ as we possibly can," stated Harry flatly.

Vernon wasn't pleased by the answer, made obvious by the tic in his jaw, but he didn't press them.

"Anyway—I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia . . ."

Sephiroth let out a small groan.

"Really, who plans out things this in-detailed?" he complained softly to Harry. "I get he wants to make the deal, but really?"

Harry shrugged, just as helpless as Sephiroth. He tuned back into the Dursleys' little rehearsal in time to hear Dudley claim he had written an essay on how Mr. Mason was his hero for a school project. Harry choked on a laugh and hastily covered it up with a coughing fit. Sephiroth just wanted to know when Dudley had learned to write a comprehensive essay.

He didn't notice Vernon turning to them, until he was already glowering.

"Same as ever," said Harry.

"You will take this seriously, understand?" hissed Vernon. (Sephiroth was trying to take it seriously—he was failing, but at least he tried). "The Masons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way. . . . When dinner is over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for . . .?"

"What if Mrs. Mason is allergic to coffee?" said Sephiroth suddenly, interrupting Petunia's line.

The Dursleys turned to look at him, nonplussed.

"Well, if you're going to plan, might as well do it for everything," he said. "While you're at it, it might rain. Better prepare some mats."

Harry was giving him a look that clearly translated to ' _Shut up, you're making it worse.'_ Taking heed to his warning, Sephiroth snapped his mouth shut. Still, the damage was done, and Vernon looked as though he was about to burst.

"I'm off into town," said Vernon in an impressive reign over his temper, "to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me."

"Dudley and _I_ ," said Sephiroth before he could stop himself.

He really wasn't surprised when Vernon finally lost his temper.

"I HAVE A LOT RIDING ON THIS VENTURE AND I WILL NOT HAVE _YOU_ RUINING IT!" he roared, eyes bulging out of his lobster-red face. "STAY _OUT_ OF THE WAY!"

He left a couple minutes later, all but steaming in rage and throwing them paranoid glares as he exited through the front door. When the car rumbled off over the gravel, Sephiroth and Harry let out sighs of relief. The house always seemed so much quieter when Vernon wasn't around, without the yelling or pacing, banging around the kitchen because he was still furious that they no longer fixed breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or even prepared snacks. (There would be no elevenses, either).

They were kicked out into the garden by Petunia, who had taken heart from her husband's temperament and wasn't shying away quite as much. Honestly, Sephiroth wasn't sure whether to be disheartened or somewhat gladdened. Amusing as it was to watch the Dursleys dance on eggshells around them, it didn't stop them from looking at him as though he was a monster.

Sephiroth tilted his head back, staring up into the wide, empty blue sky. There wasn't a cloud, or feather, to be seen. Since the end of the school year, Sephiroth had waited patiently for owls from Harry and his friends back at Hogwarts, but nothing had come. There wasn't a single letter, not even the hoot of an owl flying overhead, nor a single sign that anyone had bothered to remember them. Not one to be shaken off by the silent treatment (despite how it sent something akin to dread crawling under his skin), Sephiroth had already sent a small mountain worth of letters to everyone—including Draco Malfoy. He even thought of pestering Percy Weasley, but decided that was probably taking it too far.

He heard Harry humming under his breath, sitting hunched on the garden bench. It was a saddening sight.

"They're probably busy," said Sephiroth, voicing the words he had told himself over and over all summer long.

"Yeah," said Harry.

"It's not like they'd really forget, after everything we did last year," said Sephiroth, putting on a smile that was almost convincing.

And then he noticed the eyes looking at them.

"The hedges," said Sephiroth, blanching. "I knew there was something wrong with me. I'm hallucinating."

"No, I see them, too," said Harry, gaping at the hedges.

Sephiroth made to walk toward the eyes, which seemed like the best course of action when coming across something foreign. (He realized with annoyance that he would probably be in the first victim in those B-rated horror films).

There was a beat of silence as the eyes winked out of sight. Then—

" _Okay_ , so that happened," mumbled Sephiroth. He sighed and added, "Dudley's coming."

Harry tensed up and tried to look normal, but only succeeded in appearing to be in pain. None of them were eager to be around Dudley, who was nasty even on the best of days. Sephiroth watched him warily; he had been unaware that Dudley knew the garden even existed. He couldn't remember a time Dudley stepped outside, let alone took the time to admire the finely tended flowers that Petunia had meticulously planted. That wasn't anything compared to the hedges, which Sephiroth and Harry trimmed themselves.

The light of day didn't flatter Dudley any more than the artificial lights of the house. On the contrary, in the sunlight they could see a couple more details that Sephiroth was perfectly fine without knowing. He angled his gaze away, hoping that if he ignored Dudley long enough, he would get the hint and leave. Except Dudley didn't care what Sephiroth wanted and even if he did pick up on the hint, he wouldn't bother taking himself elsewhere.

Ignoring him didn't work, either. Sephiroth drew the line when he felt a meaty fist give his hair a hard tug.

" _What?_ " he snapped, yanking his hair away and stepping back to a comfortable distance.

Dudley gave a smile that made Sephiroth want to strangle him. It involved some eyebrow-raising, cocking of the head, and a smirk.

"I know what day it is!"

"That's nice," said Sephiroth. "Can you go now?"

"Today's your birthday," said Dudley, giving Harry a falsely sympathetic look. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"

Sephiroth gave him a poisonous glare.

"I'm going to turn you into a frog, so help me," he said.

Dudley moved faster than Sephiroth and Harry thought possible, tripping over his sagging trousers and almost falling on his backside. His eyes darted from Sephiroth to Harry in terror.

"You c-can't—Dad told you, you're not to do m-magic . . . he said he'll chuck you out of the house," said Dudley, digging his grave deeper with every word. Sephiroth was _this_ close to throwing Dudley over the hedge. "And you haven't got anywhere else to go—you haven't got any friends to take you—"

Sephiroth lunged. Dudley let out a shriek and fell over himself trying to get away, screaming for Petunia, causing a general ruckus. Sephiroth stood back and watched his work in action, as Dudley tripped over the garden hose (now how did that get there?), fell headlong into a mud puddle, and came up spluttering for breath. He slipped getting up and soaked himself even further.

At last he reached the house, dripping wet and covered in mud, and Sephiroth had barely moved an inch from where he was standing the entire time. Petunia's screech rattled the windows, informing them that Dudley had spread the chaos into the clean house. With any luck, the pristine white floors would have permanent stains.

"That didn't even take a drop of magic," said Sephiroth smugly.

"You're going to get in major trouble," Harry warned, but he was snickering into his hand anyway.

"Worth it," they chorused.

Punishment involved nothing they weren't already used to, revolving around household chores and Petunia's nasally voice droning in their ears. Dudley was quickly changed out of his dirty clothes into fresh ones and spent his free time (meaning all of his time) pestering Sephiroth and Harry in every way possible. By the time a mere ten minutes had passed, Sephiroth longed for the ribbon Hermione used to tie his hair up with. His scalp was actually starting to get sore from Dudley's tugging. He didn't dare retaliate with Petunia watching and magical threats only went so far. They really couldn't afford to be kicked out on the streets.

As they moved through a list of chores that seemed endless, Sephiroth tried to convince himself that his life could be worse. The Dursleys could have been informed they weren't allowed use of magic outside Hogwarts. They could be locked up in the cupboard, starved day and night, tasked with doing literally everything again, and separated from their trunks. One of the first things Vernon tried to do was lock away their magical items, but Sephiroth persuaded him against it—there was some wand-waving involved. If their things were stored away, they wouldn't have been able to do their summer homework.

Sephiroth shuddered. Although, after weeks of hearing nothing from their friends, doing homework was a solace. He never thought he would enjoy homework assignments, but faced with the horrible loneliness of the Dursley house, it was a good pass-time. Homework only lasted so long and Sephiroth would swear it all went by faster when he wanted to do it. For once he had wanted those long, tedious hours, but it seemed to be over in minutes.

"So hot," he groaned as they toiled away in the garden.

"Imagine if they could see me now," growled Harry angrily. "'Famous Harry Potter'."

"Maybe I shouldn't have messed with Dudley," said Sephiroth regretfully.

Harry blinked in surprise, then shook his head rapidly.

"No, no, it's not . . ." he sighed. "I just wish I knew _why_! We were friends, right? Did we . . . misread it? I mean, it's not like we've got much experience with friendship. Maybe we got it wrong?"

" _You've got friends here!_ "

That was what Genesis had said, at least.

"I don't know," Sephiroth replied glumly. "They could've just forgotten."

Harry didn't reply, and Sephiroth knew it meant he didn't think that was the case. He would have pressed the matter, refusing to believe that he had taken everything Genesis said out of context, but stopped when he felt eyes watching him. He turned his head slightly, staring at the hedges through his silver bangs, and tensed when he noticed the large green eyes were staring at them again. That confirmed it: someone was spying on them.

They were called in a couple minutes later for their early dinner, but Sephiroth hung back. He nodded at Harry, who glanced over at the hedges, and sped up for the house. Sephiroth didn't need words to know Harry understood—they were good enough at reading each others' expressions to communicate without words. As soon as Harry disappeared through the door, Sephiroth made a lunge for the hedges and grasped at the eyes.

There was a startled squawk and a _thud_ , Sephiroth scrambled after the diminutive figure, tumbling out of the hedges and catching his foot in the freshly trimmed flower beds. He cast the crushed flowers a faintly apologetic look, as his fingers closed around a scrap of cloth that felt as greasy as someone's three-day old snot rag. He thought it was entirely understandable that he let go, grimacing, when he felt something damp. The thing (Sephiroth wasn't entirely sure it was human) darted off and disappeared again.

Five minutes later than he was supposed to, Sephiroth entered the house. Petunia nearly had a conniption when she saw the state he was in, with leaves in his hair and stuck to his clothing, covered in dust and mud. There were a couple flower petals scattered here and there, as well. The expression of dread on her face when she looked out the window at the garden made Sephiroth think she was expecting craters.

She sent him up to the bathroom to clean up, making him walk the entire way with newspapers, which was very time-consuming. By the time he was finished (it was difficult picking all the leaves out of his hair), she had cleared the table of dinner and sent Harry up to his room. Vernon had already returned and looked thunderous to see Sephiroth in the middle of the house, so Petunia ushered him into the cupboard.

Sephiroth was somewhat furious. The only thing keeping him from going ballistic and charging out of the cupboard, despite the Masons having arrived, was Shinra's calming purr at his side. He scratched the cat's head, letting out an annoyed sigh.

The minutes wore on, Vernon speaking with so much false cheer and friendliness it made him feel sick, before they set up the table and laid out the food. Sephiroth's stomach let out a piteous growl. He hadn't eaten anything the entire day. Mrs. Mason commented on the food and Sephiroth curled up on his side, hoping to sleep through listening to the Dursleys and Masons eat, while he starved.

Sephiroth hadn't dreamed much since leaving Hogwarts and the few dreams he did have, weren't of his inner world or Aerith, or even any of his memories. They were mostly the odd, normal dreams, such as the ones including falling off a building and bouncing off the pavement, or that really strange one where his hair kept growing and growing and _growing_ , and he drowned in it. (When he had woken up, he found himself tangled up in his blankets).

This time, his dream came in snatches that made little to no sense. He wasn't even entirely sure it was a dream, because all he remembered was a pair of hard, angry blue eyes glaring at him.

" _Get out of here._ "

Sephiroth would have liked to leave, but he didn't control his dreams. His mouth wouldn't move, so he couldn't tell the man. Instead, he suffered under his glaring eyes for what felt like ages. Everything was blurred, since he wasn't so much asleep as half-conscious, so he was also keenly aware of how hungry he felt the entire time. It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life.

He was jolted awake when a loud _thump_ sounded from upstairs, followed by another.

"Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

Sephiroth wondered what kind of idiot would actually believe that.

The Masons, apparently.

He waited a few seconds, until Vernon and come and gone from Harry's room, and slowly opened his cupboard door. Petunia hadn't had the foresight to lock it, so he peeked his head outside. The Masons weren't in the hall, or in the living area, so the coast was clear. He went to open the door wider, and make a break for upstairs—

And a wrinkly creature with gray skin, long ears, and bulbous green eyes barreled by, slamming the door shut as he went. Sephiroth dodged back in time to save his nose, but he let out an irritated hiss. He was certain that creature was the one who had been spying on them all day.

He opened the door again as Harry darted passed him, ashen and shaking slightly. He didn't look very happy.

"Harry?" he whispered as loud as he dared.

Harry and the strange little gray creature scrambled into the kitchen.

"They're trying to get us killed," mumbled Sephiroth numbly.

He quickly followed them into the kitchen, in time to hear Harry attempting to negotiate with the creature. Sephiroth only then noticed how the creature was levitating Petunia's dessert, a pristine symbol of sugar-overdose and pudding, far above their heads. The creature was perched on one of the counters by the sink, arms held out with all the seriousness of someone holding a deadly weapon.

Sephiroth thought he might as well have been holding the detonator to a round of explosives. If that dessert was ruined, they were dead meat. Magical threats or not, Petunia was going to summon the demons of the underworld and let them feast on Harry and Sephiroth's guts.

" _What_ is going on?!" Sephiroth snarled. He motioned behind him. "Do you _not see_ that they've got people over? Are you insane?"

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school—"

"Is _that_ what this is about?" said Sephiroth, his voice a little shriller than normal. "You want us to give up on the school that teaches magic?"

"Harry Potter must!" said the creature firmly. "It is for Harry Potter's safety!"

"And you think dropping the pudding will make that happen?" said Sephiroth incredulously. "Sure, the Dursleys will skin us alive—"

The creature looked horrified.

"—but we'll still find a way to go to Hogwarts," he finished. "You can't stop us."

The expression on the creature's face said something along the lines of: _challenge accepted_.

Harry was nearly begging.

"Look, he's right," he said. "We'll do whatever we have to. He even clung to the outside of the train to board when they wouldn't let him."

"Harry Potter _must not_ go to school!" insisted the creature.

"Dobby, please—" said Harry hoarsely.

"Say it, sir—"

"I can't—"

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

Sephiroth let out a strangled curse as the pudding fell, perhaps moving even faster than he had ever in his entire life, and caught the pudding right before it smashed against the floor. Surprise flitted across Dobby's face.

Sephiroth threw him a murderous glare.

"You little—"

Dobby disappeared with a loud crack, which drew sounds of interest from the Dursleys and Masons. Sephiroth deposited the pudding on the counter, and then he and Harry made a mad dash for the stairs. They arrived at the top as Petunia voiced she had seen nothing out of the ordinary in the kitchen, drawing sighs of bone-deep relief from them.

"What was that about?" asked Sephiroth as they slipped into their shared room.

"He was a House-Elf," explained Harry, which cleared up absolutely nothing.

Harry filled him in with what happened while he was in the cupboard. Dobby had been waiting for Harry in his room, to warn him about something terrible that would be happening at Hogwarts that year. ("As if we haven't already experienced dangerous things at Hogwarts.") Dobby had told Harry not to attend Hogwarts that year, to which he had received a definite negative.

"He's the reason we haven't gotten any letters all summer," said Harry, frowning. "He's been stealing them since he got here."

They both jumped when, the second the Masons left the door, there was a shriek from Petunia. They both peered down the stairs bravely—although Sephiroth was trying to figure out why Dobby would steal their letters—and were horrified to see the owl flapping around the ceiling wildly. It dropped a letter, landing on the spot Mrs. Mason had been sitting mere minutes ago, and flew off through the kitchen window.

"At least it waited for the Muggles to leave?" said Sephiroth, drawing a glare from Harry.

Vernon ripped open the letter angrily. They watched his face go blank, then white with anger, and then he grinned widely. He waved the letter, noticing them standing at the top of the stairs, with a laugh that was an ugly combination of furious and amused.

"Come down," he said, almost jovial. "Read it! Go on—read it!"

Sephiroth eyed the letter as though it was going to bite him.

"'Dear Mr. Potter,'" said Harry out loud, for Sephiroth's convenience. "'We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

"'As you know, underage wizards are' . . ." Harry trailed off, going white again.

"Oh, don't stop now," said Vernon with relish. "Go on, finish it!"

"'. . . are not permitted to perform spells outside school—'"

"Ah!" Vernon interrupted, seemingly changing his mind after Harry read the part he wanted them to hear. "Forgot to mention it . . . Slipped your mind, I daresay . . ."

Sephiroth wished the letter would spontaneously burst into flames. Their only threat, the single thing that kept them halfway decently fed, had vanished right before their eyes. He remembered every time he had threatened to grow monstrous warts on Vernon's face, as he loomed over them with the aura of a vindicated demon. And it was all because the Ministry had, for whatever reason, detected the House-Elf's spell as Harry's own.

In the hallway behind Vernon was Petunia and Dudley, the former thin-lipped with displeasure, while the latter seemed to be slowly dawning on what they were saying. Sure enough, thirty seconds of heavy thought later, Dudley's eyes widened. Sephiroth had a feeling that even if Vernon and Petunia didn't give him a hard time, Dudley was going to be nothing short of tormenting.

He could have punched them—but he had scrapped the thought before it even finished, as he did every time it popped up. While it was true that he could easily just punch them and be over with it, they would also kick him out on the streets and he would be out of a place to live. That wasn't even counting the fact he might have to leave Harry. So physical force was out of the question.

"Petunia, put that one in the cupboard," said Vernon, not even sparing Sephiroth a glance. It was back to pretending he didn't exist, it seemed. Vernon leered down at Harry. "I'm locking you up . . . You're never going back to that school . . . never . . . and if you try and magic yourself out—they'll expel you!"

Harry looked sick with stress and worry, as he was dragged upstairs by Vernon by the back of his shirt.

That was the last Sephiroth saw of him for a long while.

At least, it felt like a very long time.

The old light bulb in the cupboard had finally fizzled out several months ago, while Sephiroth was at Hogwarts, so it was mostly dark, save the thin sliver of light that came in through the bottom of the door. Sometime after he was shut inside, Vernon had installed several newer, much larger and fancier, locks on the door, clearly distrusting the old ones. They hadn't put in a cat-flap on the cupboard door, like he had seen on Harry's door, so Petunia was forced to open the entire door when she fed him. She threw in a whole can once, but he had to remind her that he couldn't open a can with his nails, so she tossed a can opener at his head and told him to " _Figure it out._ "

Sephiroth spent most of the long hours curled up on the musty old mattress, reminding himself over and over that his friends' letters had been stolen. They hadn't forgotten him or Harry, as they had suspected. Their letters had simply never reached the house, because of Dobby. Except, he would think of how it was a little foolish to take a complete stranger (one that had tried to smash the dessert and nearly gotten them expelled, no less) at his word. Harry never did say if he saw the letters—maybe he forgot to specify.

It was easier to pretend he wasn't worried about Genesis, Angeal, Hermione, and Ron when he was with Harry. They were always together, so he could just imagine nothing was wrong. Locked in the dark, utterly alone, starving slowly and painfully, everything seemed even worse than it was beforehand. He was fairly sure Petunia had forgotten to feed him again (it wouldn't be the first time), but his stomach wasn't even growling anymore.

At some point, he sat up and realized they hadn't let him out in three days. He had knocked at the door for nearly fifteen minutes before Petunia came, but she only fed him (that was around when he remembered he hadn't eaten in three days, either), and didn't speak a single word, not even in his general direction. It as though he was under Harry's invisibility cloak, except there was no cloak and he just wasn't there. Harry was the secret they wanted no one to know; Sephiroth was the monster they wanted gone. They probably wished he would die, but they weren't actually willing to commit murder.

Two weeks of this came and went. Sephiroth had stopped moving halfway through that time, only sluggishly raising to choke down the cold canned soup Petunia fed him.

Vernon's sister, Marge Dursley, had visited them to celebrate Vernon's successful deal with the Masons. It was another example of how no matter terribly Sephiroth thought his life was, it could get worse. While Marge was over, none of the Dursleys had wanted to do the chores, so they had lifted Sephiroth's exile long enough for him to do the household chores. All throughout doing the dishes, setting the table, and preparing the meals, Marge had commented on this, that, and the other thing.

"Don't know where you got something like that, Vernon."

"What possessed you to keep it?"

"Terrible pity, birth defects. Unfortunately, I put down at least one a year from them."

Marge dealt with dogs and Sephiroth wouldn't doubt for a second that she could put down the dogs she raised for a birth defect, or for being a runt.

"Surprised it's not blind, with those eyes."

Sephiroth was fairly sure she didn't know his gender. Actually, no—he'd heard Petunia refer to him as a boy at least twice. She knew perfectly well he was male, but she liked referring to him as an it.

"What about the other one?" said Marge over a cup of brandy, which she claimed to be laying off of in her normal diet. "Your sister's runt."

"Oh, he's upstairs," said Petunia with a strained smile. "Grounded."

"Ah, yes," said Marge, nodding as if this was expected. Sephiroth's hands tightened on the dish he was bringing to the table. "Where'd you say he was going again?"

Vernon shot Sephiroth a warning look. He turned to Marge again.

"Saint Brutus's," he replied promptly. "It's an institution for hopeless cases."

Pure willpower kept Sephiroth from shattering a bowlful of gravy, which he set down hard enough to send the gravy sloshing over the sides, onto the tablecloth. He had to clean it up after, and then he spent the rest of the meal waiting on Marge's every whim, at Vernon's request. Ripper kept close to Marge's ankles, short, squat, and vicious for a dog of its size. Sephiroth was careful to steer clear of Ripper. Even though he could kick the dog like a football, it would _not_ be worth dying for—Marge, unlike the other Dursleys, might just kill him.

This visit, however, she had brought not just one dog. Instead, she had brought three, because the person who usually watched over them wasn't available at the moment. Sephiroth ended up having a staring contest with the other two dogs, who were larger than Ripper and had much more energy, when they stood between himself and the dining room. There was a platter full of meat in his hands and he didn't dare kick them. He sidestepped one, dodged a nip from the other, and narrowly avoided stepping on Ripper's tail as the dog waddled in his path. The incident only served to reaffirm his liking of cats over dogs.

"All that hair," Marge was saying, slightly tipsy. "Why not just . . . cut it off?"

"It grows quickly," said Petunia, although she was eyeing his long, silver hair with a critical gleam.

Sephiroth hastily put the last dish on the table and escaped to the kitchen, before Petunia could try to wrangle him into a haircut.

"Where'd you find him?" said Marge, and it took Sephiroth a moment to realize she was still talking about him. It was the first time she had referred to him as anything other than 'it' or 'that one.'

Vernon cleared his throat before he spoke, setting his utensil down.

"Ah, the street," he said shortly. "He was abandoned, we reckon. Sick, underfed. We nursed him back to health."

Sephiroth bristled. _Harry_ was the one who took care of him. They wouldn't even get close enough to touch him, let alone actually nurse him back to health.

"Too damn good of you," said Marge gruffly, giving him a sideways look. She didn't bother to hide her grimace, as if he was painful to look at. "Would have left him there—the streets are where runts like that belong."

Funny, Sephiroth thought sourly as he wiped the counters clean, she had just said that runts belonged at the bottom of a pail of water.

Her words burned, though, no matter how hard he tried to ignore her. Nothing she said was true, not that she knew any better. He hadn't been abandoned by that alleyway, although he didn't know how he got there, either. It was another mystery that Aerith had failed to shed light upon last time she spoke to him. Just like he often wondered why, if Genesis and Angeal were together, he wasn't reborn with them, as well. He didn't regret meeting Harry for a second and he wouldn't change it for the world, but—it was just another unanswered question.

They dismissed him as soon as he was done setting the table and cleaning the dishes. He was left staring up at the ceiling of the cupboard again, listening to Marge's loud, rumbling voice and Petunia's high, faked laughter. Dudley would occasionally throw something in and Marge would coo at him (a truly horrific sound). Occasionally she would throw a jab at Harry or him, knowing he could hear though the cupboard door.

 _Animal_. The next day, Sephiroth started to think they were treating him like an animal. That afternoon, Marge asked for a couple cans of soup. She said the stores where she lived didn't carry that particular brand and she enjoyed it. Sephiroth knew she just wanted him to starve a little longer, while Petunia thought of something edible to throw at him. He heard Marge talking to her dogs on her way out, and changed his previous conclusion—they treated him worse than an animal.

Was Harry doing any better?

Sephiroth's thoughts came in snatches. It became harder to have cognizant thoughts as he grew weaker and weaker from hunger.

He told Petunia that he needed more food than the average human being to survive, admitted that he wasn't normal, that he was going to die if she didn't feed him more—or at least more consistently. Maybe there was a flash of pity in her eyes, high-strung as she was, but whatever pity she might have had, Vernon didn't.

It was night, two weeks from the start of the second year at Hogwarts, and Sephiroth decided if Petunia forgot to feed him again the next morning, he was going to break out. Granted, he would be punished and starved even more, but he had to eat _something_ or he was really going to die. He had already been thinner than he was supposed to be when he left Hogwarts—Madam Pomfrey was going to have a coronary when ( _if)_ she saw him.

Sephiroth found it almost amusing, how his strength was a double-edged sword. He healed so quickly, was stronger and faster, his senses were better than the average person. It ate at his body, though, and he required sustenance. It wasn't as though his body could regulate his own metabolism for the amount of food he had to eat. Madam Pomfrey explained all of this to him and now here he was, remembering exactly what she said, word for word.

"Yes, yes, you're strong, I get that," she had said during a check up, right before he left for the year. "But that strength of yours is eating away at your body. Perhaps if I could get you the right supplements, it wouldn't be so much of a problem, but if I go down that route, I'd might as well send you to St. Mungo's. You eat plenty now, but you didn't before and don't think I didn't notice. Starvation is bad for anyone, but it would be deadly to you. So don't go skipping meals while you're away, or you'll have me to answer to!"

She had gone on for much longer than that, clucking over him like a mother hen. It had been confusing, but made him feel warm all the same.

"I'll punch them again," Genesis had said right before Sephiroth left King's Cross and they parted for the summer. "Just give me the word, I'll do it _right_ now."

He was always so quick to jump into conflict. Of all of them, Sephiroth might have—

"Don't keep these things hidden," said Hermione, brows pinched with worry. "Honestly, I know boys like to play the strong, silent hero, but it's not doing you any favors."

He missed them all and it _ached_ , like a physical wound. Hermione and Ron, Genesis and Angeal. Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, the Headmaster, even Snape. Draco.

 _I am alone_.

Sephiroth opened his eyes to the darkness, not even the faintest bit of light coming in. It had to have been around midnight, but he wasn't even close to being tired all of sudden. His mind seemed to have woken up, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of how much he _missed_ everyone. He didn't like being alone in there, day in and day out, locked away and treated like something less than human. Remembering Hogwarts was bittersweet, as it only reminded him how impossibly far he was from everyone else.

He sat up, glancing around at the corners of the cupboard warily, as if the shadows would come to life and devour him. If he stared for too long, he could almost imagine they came to life, twitching and jerking and grasping at him. He was afraid and lonely, so cold and hungry and he just might die—

There was a splintering _crack_ and the door was yanked open, free of its hinges.

Sephiroth looked up, pressed into the cupboard corner and folded in on himself. He wasn't sure what he expected to see, but it wasn't that.

The man looked tall to Sephiroth, but it was hard to tell, all dressed in black and leather. He was pale in a way that more natural than from lack of sun, his hair a crown of blond spikes. A pair of blue eyes glowed down at him, sharp and bright.

"I'm a little late. Sorry about that."

* * *

 **A/N: And so begins year two! Yes that person at the end there with the chocobo hair is exactly who you think he is. :D He's also a pain in the ass to characterize.**

 **So, more noticeable canon divergences are going to happen from this point on, because the Final Fantasy VII characters don't seem to care how much easier it is when canon is followed. They're rebellious little hellions like that. XD Just in case some of you guys don't like certain divergences, I'll put in a warning right here of what I WON'T do:**

 **-Alter canon Harry Potter characters. Harry, Ron, and Hermione won't be getting glowy eyes and super powers, nor with any other canon Harry Potter characters. I honestly feel like people underestimate how powerful magic is, and the extent of what they can do if they're prepared. A prepared wizard could take on a First Class SOLDIER any day. A _prepared_ wizard. **

**...Okay, that's pretty much all I can think of. If you've got anything you're worried about, feel free to ask. :D**

 **But yeah so second year and LOCKHART and other stuffs, but mostly LOCKHART and I'm going to have WAY too much fun.**

 **Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites for Lotus! I hope you'll all enjoy Edelweiss as well! :D**

 **~Till next week.**


	2. Chapter 2

02

There was a period of ten seconds—twenty, thirty—where Sephiroth couldn't move, couldn't even breathe, as he stared up at the man. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, resembling a grounded fish. The man stared down at him, waiting patiently for a reply.

"Who—who are you?" Sephiroth finally spluttered out.

It suddenly occurred to him that he might have died and hadn't even realized it. He didn't remember feeling like he died, but he also hadn't felt much more than unnerving numbness for the past couple days, either. This man could be an angel sent to take the souls of the departed to the afterlife. Although, Sephiroth had never really pictured an angel wearing so much black, or leather for that matter. He hadn't really believed in angels in the first place.

"Can I say goodbye to Harry, first?" asked Sephiroth solemnly—his head was fuzzy. Did the dead always feel as though there was cotton stuffed in their skulls?

The blond man blinked once, and then let out a sigh.

"You're not dead."

"I'm not . . ." Sephiroth trailed off. He jumped to his feet—swaying, just barely keeping from falling over—and pointed at the man. "Doesn't that mean you're breaking and entering?"

Blue eyes bored down at him, quietly speechless.

"Make sure you break up a lot of stuff," said Sephiroth. "I know I'll have to clean it all up, but they've been awful lately."

"I'm not a—that's not why I'm here," said the man.

For reasons Sephiroth didn't understand, he had the feeling he just sent a giant wrecking ball through the man's train of thought.

"So this is what she meant," the man mumbled. He gave Sephiroth another once-over, head to toe, as if looking for something in particular. "I'm a . . . friend of Aerith's."

"You're a friend of—" Sephiroth stopped, utterly bewildered. He had only told his friends and Harry about Aerith Gainsborough. Barring the likelihood that the man could read Sephiroth's mind, there was no way he could know about Aerith, unless he was actually telling the truth.

But, to trust a man who tore the door down in the middle of the night? Well, it wasn't the first time it happened. Sephiroth and Harry had left with Hagrid without hesitation.

"How do you . . ."

That was when everything else the man said clicked.

"Wait, what do you mean 'this is what she mean'?" he asked sharply. "What did she say?"

"It's not important," said the man, throwing a quick look over his shoulder, up the stairs. When he looked down at Sephiroth, it was as though he was seeing through Sephiroth—like he was glass, or a window. "My name is Cloud Strife. The reason I'm here is . . . to get you out of this place."

"Get me out?" Sephiroth repeated.

"It's not healthy," said Cloud.

Sephiroth's first instinct was to ask why he should trust Cloud at all, but—again, it was hardly the first time he had left the Dursleys in the dead of night with someone who was practically a stranger. He remembered every second, hour, day, he spent locked in the cupboard, starved and lonely and miserable. He hadn't had a decent cup of water in days and had absolutely no idea how Harry was faring in his room. At this point, he really couldn't think of anything worse than what he was already living. (Well, that wasn't true at all—he could be sold or trafficked or cut up for organs or—he decided to stop following that line of thought.)

If he did, hypothetically of course, leave with Cloud Strife, there was no way of knowing where he might end up. He wouldn't leave Harry behind, either, so it was a two-package deal. If Cloud wouldn't take Harry, neither of them would be going anywhere. And that didn't even begin to cover the dilemma of whether or not he was even willing to risk Harry's safety like that. He couldn't dismiss Harry's desire to leave the Dursleys for good, though.

"My friend is getting your brother," said Cloud, in what might have been an attempt at being comforting. He looked a little awkward. "You can—well, I won't ask you to trust us. But you'll be better off."

Except Cloud had lost Sephiroth's attention the moment he said someone was retrieving Harry. Sephiroth bolted around him—Cloud looked startled from the sudden movement, hand twitching for the truly enormous weapon on his back—how had Sephiroth missed that? He made a dash for the stairs and barreled into another man.

He came to an abrupt halt.

"You . . ." Sephiroth whispered, eyes widened—his mind reeling in complete shock, recognition, _realization—_ the pushing and pulling of the thoughts in his head nearly overwhelming. He stumbled back, and nearly fell down the stairs, but was caught by Cloud's gloved hand.

This time, Sephiroth looked—really looked—and his heart gave an almost painful squeeze. He had seen their faces before, smiling and waving at him, eyes bright with a quick joke or quip, pushed away from the forefront of Sephiroth's mind because it hurt to remember. They were the family he never met, that he would never know, who haunted his dreams for weeks after seeing the Mirror of Erised. (Who had stared him down, accusing and betrayed, in those days after he killed Quirrell.)

Harry was behind the other man, his green eyes fixed on Sephiroth, going round with understanding. He was good at reading Sephiroth, always had been, so of course he understood. Still, there was a healthy dose of suspicion and wariness in Harry's gaze as he glanced from Cloud to the other man.

"I know you," said Sephiroth, half-frantic, taking another step back so he could see both Cloud and the newcomer. He expected them to fade away, dissolve into ashes and blow away, to reach through the shadows and grab his arms and legs and ask _why, why, why—why was he a monster?_

The other man, with spiky black hair and blue eyes just as luminous as Cloud's, took a cautious step closer to Sephiroth, a question half-formed.

"You were—does this mean . . ." They weren't disappearing, they weren't fake, and Sephiroth was finding it suddenly very hard to speak around the lump in his throat.

The blurriness of his eyes might have been weariness or tears or both, as the dark-haired man crouched so they were eye-level. He reached up to press a hand to Sephiroth's forehead, as if he might have a fever—Sephiroth couldn't remember the man's name, just out of reach, and it was a _crime_ , a sin that he couldn't remember, and it was _frustrating—_

"Sephiroth?" said the man, frowning worriedly.

"Are you my—my family?" Sephiroth asked quickly, deciding to pretend that it wasn't desperation, only raw curiosity.

Surprise briefly flitted across his face, before it melted into a crushing amount of sympathy.

"We're not directly related, if that's what you're asking," said the man, his smile hopeful and maybe a little sad. "But we'll be your family, if that's what you'd like."

Sephiroth's eyes darted to Harry, already opening his mouth to ask the question on his mind, but the man guessed what he was going to say.

"And Harry," he said, grinning in good-nature. "It goes without saying we'll bring your brother."

"What's your name?" said Sephiroth, half in askance and half in apology.

"I'm Zack Fair," he said. He cast a critical eye at the house—Sephiroth could hear annoyed voices and creaking of floorboards as the Dursleys finally stirred to consciousness. "I think it's about time to leave, eh, Cloud?"

"The house owners are up," said Cloud, sounding far too unconcerned for Sephiroth's tastes.

"Right about time," grumbled Zack, straightening to his full height. There was a sword on his back as well, somewhat resembling a sharpened slab of metal given a hilt. It was well-taken care of, though.

"We can't do magic outside of school," said Harry, casting the dark hallway a slightly fearful look. "The Dursleys—"

"Are trash," said Zack. He gave Harry's head a pat, beaming at him. "Don't worry, we've just got some loose ends to tie up here. Can't just leave with no word, right?"

"Yes," said Cloud.

"Aw, c'mon, Cloud," said Zack, borderline whining. "Don't tell me you don't want to chew them out, just a little bit?"

Cloud eyed him flatly.

"I know, I know, he needs food and water and good night's rest, but you don't want to yell at them even just a _little_ bit?" said Zack. "They locked up two little _kids_ for weeks—that's not cool."

Vernon Dursley stumped down the hall at that moment, stealing their chances at escaping without a confrontation. His beady eyes were squinted from bleariness, looking incredibly grouchy and a little wary to see two full grown men standing in the middle of his hallway, with Sephiroth and Harry. He glanced at Harry briefly, ignored Sephiroth, and his pudgy fingers twitched—probably wishing he had brought his shotgun with him.

"What in the blazes—?!" he exclaimed, tripping over himself to back away when he noticed the large swords on Cloud and Zack's backs. "What are—who are you—I'll call the cops—"

Petunia had appeared behind him, half-hidden in the doorway of their room. Sephiroth heard a thump as Dudley rolled out of bed.

"No, you won't," said Cloud. "No one is calling anything."

"N-Now see here—" Vernon started, but he was verbally trampled over by Zack—who looked terrifying when he was angry, for the record.

"There's nothing to be seen here," snapped Zack, fury tightly wound through his body, restrained under iron self-control, "other than the abuse of kids. Little kids, who did _absolutely nothing_ to deserve your treatment. Locked in the dark and starved? You don't even treat them like _humans—_ "

A scoff escaped from Petunia, and she looked as though she hadn't entirely meant to do it, but Zack's attention was already on her.

"Do you have something to say?" asked Zack, and Sephiroth could hear the unspoken, _Please, say something and allow me to tear into you_ , in his tone.

Cloud's eyes were cold as ice, staring down the Dursleys with enough intensity to make anyone squirm. Vernon looked as though he wanted to run.

"You—all of you—treating them like they're something special," hissed Petunia, either too drowsy from recently waking or too reckless to care that Zack and Cloud were heavily armed. Sephiroth remembered her tone the year before, talking to Hagrid, as if she was trying to dismantle Sephiroth and Harry with her words, pick them apart and leave them hollow. "As if they're anything less than _freaks._ My sister's brat, forced on me when she went and _died—_ and the creature we took _pity_ on!"

Again, they were pretending they had been the ones to help him. As though they made the conscious decision to take Sephiroth into their home, when it wasn't them. Sephiroth remembered being small, even smaller than he was now, and weak—he couldn't even move, his mind muddled and not a single snatch of thought making sense. Everything had been a blur of pain and confusion and the lingering sense of _abandonment_ , of _don't forget_ , and he couldn't remember what he wasn't supposed to forget.

With every thundering footfall passing by the alley, every human being who didn't stop, didn't even cast him a second look, who didn't care—he had felt despair, so much sadness—as though they couldn't find it in their hearts to just stop and look closer. The world was a cold and uncaring place, Sephiroth learned that from a very young age, but someone had stopped. They had looked back—and Sephiroth had seen Harry Potter for the first time.

"Not you," said Sephiroth, finding his voice. "It was never you. Harry convinced you, Harry took care of me—always Harry. You never even looked at me."

Somehow it felt good to finally say those words out loud, like a verbal sort of revenge, years of grief and pain flooding out of him. They were looking at him now, Vernon and Petunia with their eyes wide, warred between outrage and something else, perhaps even fear—Dudley peeking out of his door, looking as though he had just seen Sephiroth for the very first time.

Cloud rested a hand on Sephiroth's shoulder, and then directed him down the stairs. He was too startled to protest. In the space of mere minutes, everything had changed. Locked in the dark, torn away from that same solitude so quickly, and all the words he had ever wanted to shout at the Dursleys, finally spoken—well, not all of them, but enough, it was enough, and that was surprising by itself—and now they were leaving. Sephiroth couldn't manage a single word.

Zack had no such qualms.

"Where are you going?"

"Out the door," replied Cloud in a low mumble. "Like a normal person."

"Wha—but the window's right there," said Zack, pointing into Harry's room. "The bars are gone and everything!"

Apparently Zack broke into Harry's room through his window. There were so many things wrong with that, but Sephiroth only wondered if he had broken the window, or opened it normally. He didn't know how Zack even fit through the window—while he wasn't particularly hulking, the window wasn't very big. Even Harry would have a hard time getting through it, even when it was opened to its fullest.

Sephiroth glanced at Harry. He had a similarly glazed, stunned expression on his face.

"Let's just leave through the door," Cloud was saying, in a sort of resigned tone that almost reminded Sephiroth of Angeal when he was arguing with Genesis. "We don't—whoa, careful."

He caught Sephiroth as he swayed again, feeling lightheaded and his vision blurring. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, Sephiroth was reminded of his need for food. He only closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again they were outside and Harry was standing over him, pale with worry. Sephiroth remembered this happening last year, when he ran into Professor Quirrell (he flinched from the memory of Quirrell, because it was full of nothing but blood and death). This time, Harry seemed even more concerned.

"Is he going to be alright?" asked Harry, looking up from Sephiroth's face, and he realized Harry seemed a lot shorter than before.

The earth was rocking slightly. Sephiroth's head spun and when his vision cleared again, he found himself being carried by Zack. He blinked down at Sephiroth, and then beamed.

"Whew, that's a relief," he said. "You were out of it for awhile there."

"Where . . ." Sephiroth's voice faltered when he took note of the fact they were no longer on Privet Drive. They weren't even in a neighborhood, but a sparse forest. It was early morning, faint gray light filtering through the treeline and illuminating a small, two-story house. There was a gravel driveway up to the front door and a one-car garage. Vines were crawling up the sides of the house, a flush of green moss on the porch.

"It's kind of a fixer-upper," said Zack sheepishly. "And kind of small. But hey, it's home!"

Sephiroth glanced around again, failing to find Harry in the immediate area.

"Where's—"

"I'm right here," came Harry's voice from Zack's elbow. There were shadows under his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine?" said Sephiroth vaguely, terribly confused.

Without warning, he flailed and pushed against Zack, as he quite suddenly comprehended that he was being carried like a little child. Zack only laughed, expertly keeping hold of his limbs and stopping him from tumbling onto the ground. One might have thought he had experience wrestling wild eels, with how little effort he put into carrying Sephiroth.

"I can walk!"

"You passed out a couple hours ago," said Zack, growing more serious. "You're actually really weak right now. Sometimes it's hard to tell—your body will make up for the weakness, but that's even worse. Starvation isn't good for people like us."

"People like . . ."

"Yeah," said Harry, pushing his glasses up his nose. "They're all superhuman, like you, Genesis, and Angeal."

"Well, not 'superhuman'," said Zack. "We're enhanced. Scientifically, I mean."

"Enhanced?" Sephiroth echoed, frowning. "You mean, like with needles and blue superhuman juice?"

"Not blue," said Zack.

Sephiroth sincerely hoped that was a joke. He had a feeling it wasn't.

"Where's Cloud?" he asked, deciding to save that particular subject for later.

Zack nodded behind himself, at a battered silver caravan, where Cloud was fidgeting with the engine. He was pouring some kind of pinkish fluid into one of the sections, which Sephiroth thought might have been for the transmission. The front window was chipped and the side of the vehicle looked like the surface of the moon.

Unbidden, a laugh flew from his lips. Zack threw him a bemused look.

"What is it?"

"It's just, you two are superhuman," said Sephiroth, ignoring Zack's protest that they were _enhanced_ , "and you drive a van that hardly functions. Aren't the heroes in books supposed to have a really nice car or something?"

Zack huffed, stopping at the front porch and awkwardly angling his arm to open the door. Sephiroth stole the moment to slip out of his arms, dodging his grasp.

"Have it your way," Zack mumbled. Then he threw a glance back at the van and chuckled. "I think you read too many comic books. I mean have you looked at cars lately? They're freaking expensive! And good luck qualifying for those loans."

He opened the front door and Sephiroth and Harry crowded around him to get a look inside the house. Sephiroth was struck by how normal it was, from a beige carpet (with a couple burn and slash marks) to white walls. One wall was half covered in pale green paint, plastic laid out over the carpet to prevent stains. There were chips in the banister and one of the support legs seemed to be missing. Another one was stuck together with what was clearly some kind of adhesive glue. If Sephiroth were to sum up their house in one word: shabby.

"I did say it's a work in progress," said Zack, embarrassed. "Houses are kinda expensive, too."

He set them up at the table, rummaging through the kitchen, which was open to the living area and dining room.

Harry was gobsmacked, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"This is really happening?" he asked in awe.

"Yeah," said Sephiroth, hesitantly putting his hands on the table, as if he was afraid it would disappear.

"We don't . . . have to go back?" asked Harry as Zack returned with a plate full of crackers and cheese.

"'Course not," said Zack. "Not unless you want to, I mean. You want milk? Orange juice?"

"Coffee?" said Sephiroth hopefully.

" _No_!" said Zack and Harry in tandem. They looked at each in surprise.

"He doesn't do good with caffeine or sugar," said Harry.

"Yeah," Zack agreed readily. "It's nightmarish."

"What? Harry!" Sephiroth protested. They were already banding together on the sugar antics, which was something he couldn't even remember.

"We'll have milk," said Harry with a grin.

Zack nodded, filling their glasses and heading off to a closet. When he opened it, a large sword roughly double Sephiroth's width fell out and left a dent in the tiled floor. He gave Zack a flat look, pointing at the crack in the tiles.

"Now I know where all your funding goes to," he said.

"Wha—that's—"

"Entirely true," came a light, amused voice.

Sephiroth's stomach dropped and he whirled around, sending the chair skidding out behind him. Harry threw him an alarmed look and stood up as well. Closing the door behind her, Aerith Gainsborough offered them a smile, tucking a basket of flowers under her arm.

"You're—how are you—" Sephiroth stuttered incoherently. "How are you here?!"

"Magic?" said Aerith, and then giggled at his expression. "The same way you're here, of course."

"Wait, you're reborn, too?" said Harry, quick on the uptake. "Sephiroth told me about you."

"All good things, I hope," said Aerith, taking a seat at the table. She set the basket of flowers, full of white and yellow water lilies, in front of her. They let out a faintly sweet aroma, enough to smell, but not overwhelming. "It took us longer to get you two away from those people than we expected. Forgive us for that."

The front door opened and closed—Cloud walked in.

"Good morning," said Aerith, waving at him.

He nodded in reply, leaning on a wall close to the table with his arms crossed. The sword strapped to Cloud's back was a different shape than the previous one. Sephiroth briefly wondered how many other people might be living in the house, before concluding that Zack, Aerith, and Cloud were probably the only ones. No one else had come charging down the stairs, or walked inside from the back, so it seemed likely that everyone was accounted for.

"Why did you help us?" asked Harry, which was a good thing, seeing as Sephiroth's vocal cords seemed to have gotten stuck again. It was all happening too fast for him to keep up.

"It's kind of hard to explain," said Zack, scratching the back of his neck with a frown. "You see, we're all reborn. Aerith and me, especially. Cloud kind of world-hopped."

They all turned to look at Cloud, who only gave a half-shrug.

"That's basically what happened."

"But since Aerith and me—"

"And I," said Sephiroth, almost on reflex. He flushed. "Sorry, go on."

Zack looked bewildered, and then shook his head and continued.

"We were dead," he said bluntly.

"You were dead," Harry repeated.

"Yeah," said Zack. "But we got better."

"That's insane," said Sephiroth. "How do you die and then get better?"

Cloud let out a faint snort.

"What's so funny?" asked Sephiroth.

"It's nothing," said Cloud.

"You were kind of dead, too," said Zack, tone almost apologetic.

Of course Sephiroth had been dead. If had a previous life and had been reborn, that meant his life had ended at some point. He knew that and yet, somehow it felt as though his death was a little more than the usual end of life. Cloud, who he was starting to think spoke very little, had tensed up when the subject came around. If they were bringing up the reincarnation, then perhaps they were going to tell him about his previous life and missing memories.

"I know that look," said Zack, "and don't ask. We can't—well, we won't—tell you about who you were. You don't remember now and there's no telling when or if your memories will come back. To tell the truth . . . you're better without them."

"You want me to just . . . go through my life not knowing?" said Sephiroth quietly.

Zack winced slightly.

"Didn't think that would go over well," he sighed. "There's no point beating around the bush. I knew you—before. Telling you about your memories isn't going to make them come back, though. And there's no way to know how you'll react to them."

Sephiroth opened his mouth to protest—and then stopped. He knew what it felt like to lose control of himself, to snap and do the irreversible. It had been clear that Voldemort knew about him and his unusual past, maybe even more. All it took was a couple misplaced words and Sephiroth had completely blanked out, his body had moved and then it was over. Quirrell was dead and Sephiroth was covered in what remained of him.

"I guess I can understand," he murmured.

Zack looked nonplussed.

"Did something happen?" he asked quickly.

"He faced himself," said Aerith softly. "He won."

"That wasn't winning," snapped Sephiroth, his fists clenched. "That was me barely stopping myself from—from I don't even know what. I would have done something _terrible_!"

"Seph," said Harry, sounding surprised.

"You did nothing wrong," said Zack.

"I _killed_ someone!" Sephiroth finally broke and yelled. He had spoken to everyone the year before, had taken Draco's words to heart, but still—the ugly feeling in his chest hadn't left.

"You stopped someone who would have killed you, your friends, and many other people," said Cloud. "You had to kill him to do it. Sephiroth, is this about killing someone, or is this about how you lost control?"

Sephiroth opened his mouth to speak, and then drew a blank. He remembered his thoughts, words— _I snapped, I couldn't stop, I broke, there was nothing I could do—_ and slumped back in his chair. The entire time he had pinned it on one thing, on the thing that was the obvious problem, while the real problem festered in the back of his mind. When he saw the sadness in the Headmaster's eyes, the weariness in Madam Pomfrey's, he had thought of the terrible thing he did and reasoned that was why they looked so unhappy.

And then the end became the problem, not how it happened. Sephiroth hadn't felt as though he defeated an enemy. He had felt possessed and controlled, something else taking over. He felt like— _he cheated_. And then he killed.

Zack waved a hand in front of his eyes.

"I think you broke him," he said.

Cloud sighed.

"It's hard to remember he's only ten."

"Eh, don't think it's that hard," said Zack, giving Sephiroth a teasing look. "He's a midget."

Sephiroth jerked out of his daze.

" _What?!_ " he exclaimed, shooting to his feet again. "I'm not short! Just wait until I hit my growth spurt, I'll be taller than you!"

Zack let out a laugh.

"Keep dreaming, kid," he said. "You weren't taller than me then, you won't be now."

"You said you wouldn't—wait, I was shorter than you?!"

Zack and Aerith broke into more laughter, while Sephiroth was seething and flinging searing insults in their direction. He gave up on trying to stop them when Harry cracked up and he noticed Cloud cough into his fist. They were all laughing at him.

"You're all gits," he mumbled sulkily.

That only served to set Zack off again.

Soon after, Zack and Aerith got started on breakfast, while Cloud went back out to work on the vehicle—or something. He didn't actually say and Sephiroth didn't follow him, although he was tempted. Despite what seemed like a strong aversion to speech, Cloud definitely had more going on in his head than he let on. Even standing in the room, his presence seemed to demand all their attention, quiet and powerful. Sephiroth could tell where he was at all times, as if through a sixth sense. It was a curious and unusual sensation.

Breakfast was served and Sephiroth's mind was thoroughly distracted from Cloud for the next half hour, as he entered a food-eating stupor of happiness. Zack humorously warned him not to eat too quickly, else he make himself ill after weeks of being starved. His stomach had shrunken a little, but not enough to slow him down much. Zack watched with a stunned expression as Sephiroth cleared out five plates and went for more.

"I thought all superhuman people eat a lot," said Harry, not shocked in the slightest.

"Well, yeah, we do," said Zack, almost disturbed. "But, uh . . ."

"So it's a Sephiroth thing," said Harry, grinning widely.

Sephiroth made a sound of protest.

After they were done eating, tiredness set in like a two-thousand pound lead weight on his shoulders. Sephiroth could hardly keep his eyes open and Harry was nodding off over his half-eaten bowl of porridge. Between waking up at midnight to Cloud breaking his door down, being spirited away from what might as well have been a prison, and their conversation, Sephiroth and Harry were utterly exhausted.

They only partly heard Zack tell them about their room—apparently he had thought they would prefer to share a room for the time being, they could use another room later if they would like—before falling face-first onto their respective beds. Sephiroth was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He slept deeper that night than he had in a while, waking up to the beginnings of a warm sunset. On the other bed, Harry was still passed out, his face pressed into the pillow in such a way it was a miracle he wasn't suffocating. Sephiroth rubbed his eyes and then turned to go back to sleep—and came face-to-face with none other than Dobby.

Dobby blinked his bulging green eyes. Sephiroth blinked back.

"You!" he yelled, scrambling off the bed and lunging at Dobby, who darted away. " _Get back here!_ "

"Dobby must speak to Mr. Harry Potter!" wailed Dobby as he was chased in circles around the room.

Sephiroth almost knocked a lamp off his nightstand, catching it just in time. Dobby stole the moment to slid under his bed, huddling up in the darkness and staring at Sephiroth balefully.

"It is important that Harry Potter does not go back to Hogwarts this year!"

"That again?" Sephiroth groused. "More importantly, give me the letters!"

"No!" sniped Dobby.

Sephiroth dove under the bed, grasping for Dobby's greasy rags, and missed by millimeters. He let out an annoyed hissed and spun around, spotting Dobby balancing on the top of a tall bookshelf. In one small, scarred hand was a thick stack of letters in various colored envelops.

"If Sephiroth promises Harry Potter will not go to school," said Dobby, "then Dobby will return the letters!"

"If I wring your neck," snarled Sephiroth, "then I'll have them anyway!"

Dobby let out a yelp as Sephiroth jumped at him, vanishing with a crack. Sephiroth slammed into the bookshelf and tumbled back, the shelves following him. A couple dozen tomes pelted his arms and stomach, an encyclopedia landing too close to his head for comfort. He growled in irritation, whipping his head around to look for the errant House-Elf—he noticed with some exasperation that Harry had slept through the entire commotion.

He found Dobby hiding in the drapes and grabbed his ankle—Dobby screeched loud enough to make the windows rattle and Sephiroth released him to protect his sensitive ears. That was enough to wake Harry, who sat up board-straight with a startled exclamation. He looked around blearily, blinking heavily and confused.

Dobby ran for the door and opened it (without the use of his hands, Sephiroth was starting to think House Elves were far more proficient with magic than the average human wizard), bolting out—and then slammed into Cloud Strife's legs.

Sephiroth tried to stop, but tripped over a book and landed on his stomach.

"What happened here?" asked Cloud, scanning the room. It looked as though a mini tornado had blown through.

"Ah, I can explain?" said Sephiroth, hoping to all things holy that Cloud wouldn't be angry he had trashed the bedroom in under twelve hours. If they were anything like the Dursleys, he and Harry would be locked up before they could get a word edgewise.

Dobby squawked as Cloud picked him up by the back of his pillowcase clothing, holding him up at head-level.

"What is he?"

"Dobby is a House-Elf, sir," said Dobby meekly.

"He stole our letters!" said Harry, who had snapped to wakefulness when he noticed Dobby. "And he's trying to keep us from going to Hogwarts this year."

Cloud looked at Dobby very seriously.

"It's not nice to steal other people's letters," he said. "Give them back."

It was hard not to feel contrite when it was Cloud who was bearing down on him. Even though it wasn't directed at Sephiroth, who had yet to climb off the floor, he couldn't help but feel slightly ridiculous for how he reacted to Dobby. He was going to have to pick up the entire room and set all the books back. Hopefully they hadn't been shelved in a certain order, or it would take him forever.

"Harry Potter is in grave danger!" said Dobby insistently, clinging to the letters.

"Harry is safe here," said Cloud. "And he'll be fine at Hogwarts. It's a school."

Sephiroth wondered what Cloud would think of Fluffy and the army of chessmen. He and Harry might have omitted certain details when telling their story. It wasn't on purpose, so much as they just didn't get that far into the details of what happened. They went through a couple traps and met Voldemort—that covered all the important bits, but left out a lot of the other more dangerous aspects of Hogwarts. The Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow were two other perfect examples of how Hogwarts certainly wasn't tame.

Slowly, hesitantly, Dobby handed the letters over to Cloud. As soon as they left his hand, he let out a long cry and tore at his ears. He squirmed out of Cloud's grip and started determinedly beating himself upside the head with a book.

"What are you doing?" asked Sephiroth blankly.

Harry quickly ran over and snatched the book away.

"Stop that!" he said. "What's going to happen at Hogwarts, Dobby? What's going on?"

"Dobby—can't—say!"

Cloud handed the letters to Sephiroth, who clutched them to his chest protectively, eyeing Dobby as if he was a particularly vicious wild animal about to attack. As far as Sephiroth was concerned, he didn't care in the least what happened to Dobby from here on out. He planned on pretending he never saw Dobby in the first place. The only hitch in his plan was that he was feeling a good deal of pity, watching Dobby snivel and wipe his eyes, a pathetic expression on his teary face. He looked devastated.

A quick look around the room brought Sephiroth attention to a glass of water that must have been laid out hours ago, miraculously spared from the impromptu chase that went down a couple minutes ago. He offered it to Dobby, but the water might have well been some kind of strange fungus, with the way Dobby reacted to it.

His nosed scrunched up, then his eyes squinted—and he started bawling.

Sephiroth withdrew the water hastily, unsure if Dobby was offended or terrified.

"N-N-Never has . . . Dobby ever been offered _water_ before," said Dobby, sniveling loudly, blowing his nose on the pillow case. "Dobby doesn't . . . doesn't know how to react."

"I think you've already reacted," mumbled Sephiroth.

Cloud set Dobby down on Sephiroth's bed and they all waited for him to compose himself. When he did, Sephiroth attempted to give him water again. Dobby still got a little teary-eyed, but accepted the glass without completely breaking down.

"Um, feel better?" asked Harry.

"Harry Potter and Sephiroth Crescent are truly wonderful wizards," said Dobby rapturously. "Dobby does not know how to repay them."

Cloud shifted, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb.

"You can start by telling us what's happening," he said. "Why shouldn't they go to school."

"Dobby wants to say, but can't," Dobby replied. "Dobby would be punished by his family, sir."

" _Who_ is your family?" asked Sephiroth quickly. "No one with any sense of decency would treat you so terribly."

He felt a lot calmer now that the letters were no longer at stake and he was itching to open them. Cloud and Harry seemed more interested in what Dobby had to say—or rather, what he seemed physically incapable of saying. Whatever kind of magic that was binding him to his "family" (Sephiroth was loathe to use the word with something that was clearly not a family) was strong. He looked frightened at the slightest mention of the people owning him.

"Just a hint?" urged Harry. "Anything?"

"Dobby will have to iron his fingers later," he said regretfully. "Dobby cannot say."

"Is there any way to free you?" asked Cloud, keen eyes watching Dobby's every move.

"If my master presents Dobby with clothes, then I will be free," said Dobby. "But Master would never give Dobby clothing."

"But—"

Dobby jolted upright, eyes widening even further than they already were.

"Dobby has stayed too long!" he gave them one last imploring look. "Please, Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts this year!"

"Sorry," said Harry, almost regretful. "I can't do that."

Dobby looked heartbroken, before he clicked his fingers and disappeared.

"Why do I have a feeling he's going to try and help you again?" said Sephiroth wearily.

"Again?" said Cloud.

"He's the reason Harry and I were locked up by the Dursleys," he replied. "He did a charm in the house and the Ministry thought it was Harry's. The Dursleys found out we weren't allowed to do magic, and . . ."

"Your only threat was nullified," said Cloud understandingly.

Harry nodded, then turned to Sephiroth.

"You have the letters?"

Sephiroth waved them in the air.

"Want to read them yet?"

While they huddled over the pile of letters, Cloud took his leave of the room. There were several from Hermione, a couple from Fred and George, one from Charlie (to their surprise), and a mountain of letters from Ron, Angeal, and Genesis. There were three from Draco, each to Sephiroth, which was more than a little shocking.

Genesis had demanded to know why they weren't replying to his letters, broken their friendship three times, and then mended it with some of the most pathetic attempts at apologizing that Sephiroth had ever seen. Almost every single one of Angeal's letters was ended with a footnote of " _Ignore Genesis_." Hermione had reminded them to study and filled them in with random stories of what she did over the summer, all the while patiently waiting for them to reply. Ron kept asking why they weren't answering and inviting them to his house. Fred and George's letters were filled with prank materials that required no magic and were untraceable. Sephiroth wished he had those while he was at the Dursleys'.

"What's Malfoy's say?" asked Harry.

Sephiroth waved the parchment in the air.

"Oh, the usual," he said. "He doesn't want me writing him, he's not my friend, and I should remember to eat well."

Harry stared.

"I don't understand it, either."

"That's . . ."

"We'll be best friends yet," said Sephiroth with a bright smile.

"You have fun with that."

The next morning, Hedwig was weighed down with several letters in reply to their friends'. She threw them snooty looks as she left, clearly miffed at their sudden and heavy deliveries, and turned her nose up to the bacon Harry offered her. It seemed she didn't find them being locked up as an excuse for not letting her fly freely for nearly half a month. Sephiroth even sent a letter to Draco, telling him that he was eating well (as of yesterday, but he didn't write that) and that he was fooling no one.

Sephiroth looked forward to witnessing Draco's fit of temperament.

* * *

 **A/N: And the Dursleys are gone for good! Is anyone disappointed?...Anyone? Didn't think so. XD**

 **Zack, Aerith, and Cloud are already feeling the widely-understood pain of needing money. Houses and cars don't grow on trees. They might qualify for financial aid, though. (And I just realized how tsundere Draco is acting XD).**

 **Pretty much all the questions asked will be answered in the story...and are kind of spoilers. As for Cloud's thoughts toward Sephiroth... Well, that's kind of complicated. Going off Cloud in Advent Children, I think he pretty much let go of all his hatred toward Sephiroth. He even says it-he pities Sephiroth for not understanding what it's like to love everything.**

 **EdelweissSagaZ: I barely lasted two weeks, I was honestly tempted to just update as soon as I finished the first chapter. XD Cloud's presence is kind of spoilers, yeah.**

 **Thanks for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! You guys are the best. :D**


	3. Chapter 3

03

Sephiroth spent his first couple days living with Cloud, Zack, and Aerith wondering when the dream would come to an end. It was surreal, waking up each morning and resisting the urge to pinch his arm, finding it wasn't to solitude or darkness that he opened his eyes. Most of the time, Sephiroth and Harry stumbled down the stairs in a half-awake kind of daze, only to snap to alertness when Zack greeted them with a cheerful "Good morning!"

They latched onto every one of those kind words, something they had only ever heard from their friends, and some of the staff, at Hogwarts, and scurried around in an attempt to make themselves useful. Sephiroth wasn't blind, he knew Cloud, Zack, and Aerith were struggling financially, and it had to be all the more difficult to take care of them on top of handle the repairs around the house. No matter what Zack said to reassure them, it would be so much easier for them to just leave Sephiroth and Harry behind somewhere, and carry on without them. Worse yet, return them to the Dursleys.

Except after the third day of Sephiroth and Harry trying to do all the housework, cook meals, and avoid any and all confrontations, Zack finally drew the line.

"You guys aren't employees," he said over breakfast, which had been fixed up by himself and consisted of burnt pancakes and orange juice. (He had tried, and it was the thought that counted.) "I know you're used to it—those bastards you lived with treated you like slaves. That will _never_ be okay, and we don't want you to feel like you're obligated to work all day. I mean, help is okay, but . . ."

He waved his hand at the banister, which was brand new and freshly coated in a glossy finish.

"Come on, Seph, you didn't have to completely rebuild it," he said. "I looked away once and suddenly it almost sparkling. You're kids, not handymen."

"I fixed the fencing all the time," said Sephiroth blankly.

"It's not hard," added Harry.

"That's not the point," said Zack, shoulders slumping. "Helping out's great, just—remember this is your home now, okay? There's no ultimatums, nothing like that."

Sephiroth and Harry nodded their understanding, even if it was hard to actually believe what Zack said, or that there was no conditions for their staying. Not even once had Sephiroth ever felt as though he could just exist in a place and belong there, without needing to prove his worth first. In Hogwarts, he had magic, so of course he belonged—it was a school that taught magic. At the Dursleys, his purpose was serving them, and if he didn't, if he failed to live up to that purpose—he would have been booted out of the house without a second thought.

Being told by Zack that they were living there, free of charge, made it all the harder to believe they weren't in a dream. Sephiroth caught himself waiting for them to slip up, to get irritated when he left his dishes in the sink and didn't immediately wash them, or wonder aloud why the grass wasn't mowed. When none of that happened, he and Harry started cautiously pushing their boundaries, inch by inch. Instead of growing annoyed, Zack and Aerith seemed relieved when Sephiroth and Harry slept in.

"Where do you go all day?" asked Sephiroth as Cloud geared up to leave for the morning. Cloud glanced back at him and Sephiroth instantly regretted asking, because questions had been one of those pet peeves for the Dursleys. Even though Cloud was _nothing_ like them, he might not appreciate the scrutiny of his everyday movements—

"Delivery," said Cloud. At Sephiroth's nonplussed expression, he added, "What were you expecting?"

"I . . . don't know?" Sephiroth watched him, unable to contain his curiosity. "You deliver things?"

"I run a delivery service, yes," said Cloud. He slung the heavy sword on his back (Sephiroth wondered what kind of delivery service required a sword) and patted his pockets for his phone. He gave Sephiroth a brief nod. "See you later."

Sephiroth watched Cloud leave on the motorcycle that he suspected Cloud had assembled himself, and then turned back into the house with a faint sigh. There was a purr and a brush of soft fur against his leg, Shinra weaving himself around Sephiroth's ankle in an attempt to gain attention. It worked, and Sephiroth picked him up.

"It's all very strange, isn't it?" he told Shinra.

The cat mewled at him.

"I can probably find more tuna."

Except there was no tuna in the house and Shinra ended up using Sephiroth's arm for a scratching post, so he spent the rest of the day trying to smooth over the grudge the cat held against him. Soon after Cloud returned from a long day at work, Zack pouring over a bunch of resumes to various jobs—including one to a local food joint that apparently served delicious burgers—a couple low knocks sounded at the door. Zack, who had been sipping a cup of coffee, let out a hissed curse when the drink sloshed over his resume.

"Who is it?" asked Aerith when Cloud walked up to the door.

"Some old man," said Cloud.

"Very descriptive, spiky," said Zack, waving his resume quickly to dry it off. " _Whew_ , the ink didn't smear . . . small miracles."

Sephiroth and Harry watched as Cloud's hand hesitated at the doorknob. He glanced back at Zack and Aerith.

"Do we need visitors right now?"

Zack shrugged.

"Let him in, Cloud," said Aerith, slightly exasperated. "If he's who I think he is, this conversation will happen whether we want it to or not."

Sephiroth really just wanted to know who was at the door. He glanced at Harry, who looked just as baffled as Sephiroth felt.

"He's wearing a bathrobe," said Cloud, looking through the peephole. "It has stars on it. Are you sure we should let him in?"

That rang a familiar bell in Sephiroth's head.

"Does he have a long beard?" he asked, drawing their attention to him. He shifted uncomfortably, miming a beard at his face. "Gray? Wears glasses?"

Harry's eyes lit up with understanding.

"Dumbledore?"

"Does he have candy with him?"

Zack looked at Sephiroth sharply.

"Never take candy from strangers, Seph. They're just trying to trick you," he said.

"He's their Headmaster," explained Aerith patiently. "Let him in, I'll put some water on to boil."

Aerith disappeared into the kitchen as Cloud opened the door, and in walked Albus Dumbledore, wearing long lavender robes with silver stars embroidered into the hems. He wore the same cap as usual, except there was a small plushy star stitched to the very end. Either Sephiroth was seeing things, or the star winked at him. Giving that this was Dumbledore, he probably wasn't seeing things. Dumbledore's eyes immediately sought out Harry and Sephiroth, and he smiled when he spotted them.

"I see you're both doing well," he said. "That is heartening. After you vanished from your relatives' house, I was very worried."

"It's great here," said Harry, a touch desperately, and Sephiroth suspected it was because he was worried they would be forced to leave.

Aerith returned with the kettle, all disarming smiles and kindness, but somehow Sephiroth felt the urge to edge away from her. There was a clear deadliness to her sweet smile.

"You must be Albus Dumbledore," said Zack, setting his stack of resumes aside. His grin was nothing short of welcoming—so why was Sephiroth imagining a wolf superimposed behind him? "Nice to meet you."

Dumbledore accepted the tea with a quiet thanks, adding far more lumps of sugar than was healthy to the mix, and hummed his approval at the taste. By then, Cloud, Zack, and Aerith were boring holes into his head with their eyes, and Sephiroth and Harry were looking for places to take cover. After a moment of savoring his tea, Dumbledore set the cup down at the table, taking a seat.

"You need not worry so much," he said. "I don't intend to force young Harry and Sephiroth to leave."

Zack's face instantly cleared with surprise.

"Wait, seriously?" he said.

"Then what are you here for?" asked Cloud, never one to beat around the bush.

"I suppose coming here for this delectable tea isn't an acceptable answer?" said Dumbledore with faint amusement. "I do have some lemon drops on hand, if you'd like to try them."

"Answer the question," said Cloud.

Dumbledore's slight humor faded into seriousness.

"I came for a couple reasons, first and foremost to ensure Harry and Sephiroth's safety with my own eyes," he said. "It's something of a disquieting thing to have two of your students go missing in the dark of night. However, I can see now they're well cared for, more so than they were at Number Four, Privet Drive."

"If you knew they weren't being treated well there," said Zack tightly, "then why didn't you do something earlier?"

"And that brings us to the other reason I am here," said Dumbledore heavily. "I'm afraid their living conditions weren't suitable for young children—anyone, in that matter—but the fact is that that house was the safest location for Harry and Sephiroth to remain protected from those who seek to harm them."

"They were _starving to death_ ," said Zack. "There's nothing _safe_ about that. Sephiroth might not have lived to see his second year at Hogwarts."

The fangs and claws were out again. Sephiroth and Harry hovered back by the kitchen with Aerith. She aimed them an encouraging smile.

"A blood protection," said Dumbledore softly, looking older and wearier than Sephiroth had ever seen him, "placed on Harry the night his mother, Lily Potter, died for her son. It is an old magic, very powerful, and its root is pure, sacrificial love. The house in which Petunia Dursley lives carries that blood protection, strengthening and renewing Harry's own protection."

"Protecting him from what?" asked Zack.

"Lord Voldemort," said Dumbledore bluntly, and then waited for their responses.

Aerith looked tense, but Cloud and Zack only stared blankly for a couple seconds. Then Zack gave an exclamation of comprehension.

"The guy with two faces!" said Zack. "Or, the face on the back of that professor's head. How'd you not notice that?"

Dumbledore tactfully chose to ignore the last question.

"He is, perhaps, one of the most threatening dark lords to have ever risen to power." Dumbledore paused to let this sink in, but Zack and Cloud didn't look concerned in the least. "I understand you are Muggles, with little knowledge of the magical world—"

"We can handle a couple dark wizards," said Cloud.

Dumbledore gave him a long, hard stare.

"Do not underestimate magic, or what a prepared and intelligent wizard can accomplish," he said. "Magic is . . . unconstrained. Left to the imagination, there is nothing a brilliant wizard or witch cannot do. Simply put, it is unfair to those without magic."

"Overpowered?" said Zack, sounding doubtful.

"To those who are prepared," said Dumbledore, "then, yes. It is not something to be taken lightly. That isn't to say I doubt your abilities—on the contrary, I am well aware of your particular talents—however if you remain how you are, entirely unguarded from all magical attacks, you will be at a disadvantage."

"You want to put wards around the house?" said Aerith.

Dumbledore nodded. "That is so. I cannot impress enough how important this is."

"What wards?" she asked.

Cloud and Zack looked lost—Sephiroth didn't feel much better. He didn't know what a ward entailed.

"I wish to make this house Unplottable," said Dumbledore. "For that, I will need a Secret Keeper."

"And if we refuse?" said Cloud.

"I would advise against that," said Dumbledore, hands clasped at his lap. His voice was benign, but he looked more serious than he had since the start of the conversation. "I would like your cooperation."

"But you'd ward the house even without our consent, wouldn't you?" said Zack.

"This is a matter of Harry and Sephiroth's protection," said Dumbledore, which wasn't a straight answer, but spoke enough of his intentions.

Zack, Cloud, and Aerith exchanged looks, a whole conversation flitting by in the space of mere seconds, and they agreed to Dumbledore's request. Sephiroth and Harry watched them talk back and forth for another ten minutes, which felt slightly awkward considering most of everything they talked about revolved around them.

"I guess this confirms it, then," said Harry grimly.

Sephiroth glanced at him, but said nothing. He already knew what Harry was saying.

"Voldemort is still out there," Harry went on. "He didn't die that day—and he's still after us. Why else would Dumbledore be so worried about all this? Still . . ."

Harry's voice faltered.

"What is it?" asked Sephiroth.

"What he said about my mother," said Harry. "I wonder if it's true . . . I know they died fighting Voldemort, but . . ."

"Harry?"

"D'you really think he'll come here, looking for us?" asked Harry. "Cloud and Zack can't use magic."

Sephiroth remembered Cloud ripping the door of his cupboard clean off its hinges, even with the new locks Vernon had installed. Cloud hadn't appeared to struggle much doing it, either. And Sephiroth had heard from Harry that Zack tore the bars off his window with his bare hands.

"I don't think they'll have much of a problem," said Sephiroth.

"You can bet on it!" Aerith had walked back into the kitchen to put up the tea kettle. "Zack and Cloud are very strong, and I'm no pushover myself!"

Sephiroth tried to imagine Aerith fighting, but could only picture her chasing after people with her flower basket, or trying to wack her enemies with a gardening hoe. Then again, those gardening tools could be downright deadly if they were used right. Taking a steel shovel to the face would be nothing short of incredibly painful and sort of humiliating.

"Why don't you two head up to bed?" she suggested warmly.

"Eh?" said Harry.

"It's getting late," she said. "You two need your sleep."

"But Dumbledore's still here," Harry said, pointing vaguely at Dumbledore, who was cheerily unwrapping a lemon drop, whilst offering another to Zack.

They were sent up to their room to sleep for the night, feeling somewhat left out and miffed—but Sephiroth didn't quite succeed in pushing away the fuzzy feeling in his chest, because this was what having parents was like, wasn't it—and didn't actually fall asleep for another hour, talking back and forth and preparing letters for their friends.

Ron had sent another invitation to his house for the summer, and Sephiroth and Harry decided they would accept—they didn't realize until after they sent the letters they hadn't exactly told Zack, Cloud, and Aerith of their plans. The next morning, Dumbledore was gone and had apparently set up a couple minor wards. He would be back to put up the more powerful and complex wards later, after some preparation.

"So," said Aerith over breakfast, "you're shopping for your next school year with the Weasleys?"

"Yeah," mumbled Harry around a mouthful of food.

Zack was digging into his food with gusto, but paused to comment, "Where is Diagon Alley again?"

"London," Aerith replied.

"We'll be staying over at their house for a couple days after," said Sephiroth abruptly, stopping at his fifth plate of food. He watched their reactions carefully, mindful that neither he, nor Harry, had asked for any kind of permission. He wasn't exactly sure how they would take it, considering his only experience with sudden plans lacking consent ended with skipped meals and solitary confinement. "So, we'll be going with Ron, Genesis, and Angeal."

"That's cool," said Zack, although something like eagerness had flashed over his face when Sephiroth mentioned Genesis and Angeal. Then his expression changed to utmost seriousness. "Remember curfew is at nine-thirty, young man. I'll have no tomfoolery!"

Sephiroth couldn't think of a single thing to say. He settled for gaping.

Aerith giggled, pushing Zack lightly on the arm.

"Stop that," she said, turning to Sephiroth and Harry. "When did you decide to meet them?"

"Wednesday, this week," said Harry. "If that's okay."

"That's perfect," said Aerith brightly. "Cloud's been needing to get away for awhile, anyway."

"I what?" said Cloud, startled.

"C'mon, spike," said Zack. "They don't bite."

Sephiroth threw him a glare.

"Much," Zack amended with a laugh.

"We can meet them by ourselves—it's no problem," said Harry worriedly.

Cloud seemed highly conflicted for a moment, before sighing.

"It's fine," he said. "Wednesday?"

"That's right," said Sephiroth.

Aerith beamed happily, sharing a look with Zack, and Sephiroth immediately knew they were up to something. He didn't bother asking, because if there was one trait the three of them shared, it was their ability to keep a secret. After breakfast, Cloud headed out and Zack started on repairing a sagging part of the roof, mostly likely from water damage. Sephiroth could hear him grumbling about how long it was going to take as he followed Harry out the back door.

The garden was Sephiroth's favorite part of the property, expertly cared for by Aerith and always seeming to glow with health. It was predominately made up of flowers, but there were a couple plum trees and one willow overlooking a small, flowing creek.

Tending to Aerith's garden was much different than gardening Petunia's flowers, or clipping hedges. He wasn't pressured to make it look perfect, or finish as soon as possible, so to complete a long list of chores. The soil was cool in his fingers, the trees offering shade from the sun. He and Harry enjoyed spending time out with Aerith, while she tended to her specialty: the white and yellow lilies.

Unlike Zack and Cloud, who knew little to nothing about magic beyond what Dumbledore spoke of during his visit, Aerith was more than willing to give them tips and pointers, despite their homework being finished. She advised they keep up with their studies, so as to not forget anything important, and somehow it was hard to say no to Aerith.

It was fun for the first ten minutes, before Sephiroth started to get the same feeling he had all the time at Hogwarts when he was assigned homework. The fact she was drilling them on Muggle maths might have had something to do with it as well.

Wednesday found them spending the morning painting the walls. There was a soft blue and green color, as Zack and Aerith had been unable to settle on one, and the living area was going to be more colorful than they originally thought. Before they knew it, their trunks were packed up and Aerith was writing out a set of directions for Cloud and Zack to the Leaky Cauldron. No one bothered to ask how she knew—Aerith had a habit of knowing things.

They pulled in at the Leaky Cauldon, which Cloud gave a curious look at, and more or less stumbled their way to Diagon Alley from there. Sephiroth was stumped when they arrived at the brick wall and realized he couldn't remember the combination. He turned to Cloud and Zack.

"I can't use magic," said Cloud quickly.

"Me neither," said Zack. "Sorry."

Sephiroth looked at Harry. "D'you remember?"

"No," Harry replied regretfully.

Neither of them had even thought of memorizing the combination Hagrid used when they visited Diagon Alley for the first time. They were stuck there for another fifteen minutes, randomly tapping certain bricks. Sephiroth suggested they try to climb the wall, which Zack supported, but Harry firmly vetoed the idea. In the end, they had to go back to Tom the barkeeper and ask for the combination, which he gave to them with an amused grin. They finally stepped into Diagon Alley, a half-hour later than they intended, somewhat embarrassed but relieved.

Sephiroth made a mental note to write the combination down at the soonest possible moment.

Diagon Alley was, just like last time, a conglomeration of bustling crowds and colorful explosions of advertisements. Sephiroth's eyes were drawn to the window displays, multicolored words scrawled over the glass, scrambling this way and that to attract the attention of passers-by. There was a broad window showing off a new model of broomsticks, all black and shiny with polish. Harry was instantly glued to it, while Sephiroth edged away.

"You don't like flying?" said Cloud, noticing.

Sephiroth shook his head emphatically.

"No."

Cloud adopted that look he often got, as if he just came across something very unexpected.

"This place is huge," said Zack, gaping at a couple owls that soared by, packages clasped in their talons.

"That's the bookshop," said Sephiroth, pointing to Flourish Blotts. "We'll have to go there to get our school books. And then, over _there_ is Ollivander's—that's where Harry and I got our wands—"

He pointed out each of the shops, before catching sight of Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor, which he hadn't been able to stop at last time he was in Diagon Alley. He'd been more focused on convincing Hagrid to let him buy his Hogwarts things early, and planning ways to sneak onto the Hogwarts Express. Now, he wouldn't mind having some ice-cream, especially seeing how everyone walking out seemed incredibly satisfied. There were a couple other restaurants he wanted to eat at, now that he wasn't preoccupied.

"Getting hungry?" asked Harry with a smile.

"Well, you know me," said Sephiroth sheepishly.

"We'll get food, if you're hungry," said Zack, casting a look at the ice-cream parlor as if he already knew what Sephiroth was thinking.

It wasn't the first time something like that had happened, and it made him wonder.

"Did you—" Sephiroth clamped his mouth shut, stopping himself in time from asking what had been on his mind since he spoke with Zack and Aerith the first time. Just when he thought his habit of blurting things randomly was gone, it nearly struck again.

It only seemed to make things worse, though, because now he held Cloud's undivided attention.

"Um . . ." Sephiroth wracked his brain for something to say that wasn't incredibly stupid.

"Something wrong?" asked Cloud.

And that drew Zack's gaze. He hovered in front of Sephiroth, like he had the night he and Cloud saved them from the Dursleys, checking for a fever.

"No weird hallucinations? Day-old cuts?"

"I'm not hallu—what do cuts have to do with fevers?"

"Infection?" suggested Zack weakly.

Sephiroth was unconvinced.

"Nothing's wrong," he said.

Now even Harry was watching him, looking a little concerned. He seemed to study Sephiroth for a second, before his eyes widened with understanding, and he turned to Cloud and Zack.

"I've been wondering something for awhile," said Harry.

 _Don't ask him anything weird,_ thought Sephiroth emphatically. _Please, Harry?_

"Did you know Seph in his previous life?"

 _Like that_.

Sephiroth wanted to melt into the cobbled street. He should have known Harry would guess exactly what he was thinking. Unlike himself, Harry held no reservations toward asking questions. Or perhaps it was because of Sephiroth's reservations that Harry opened himself up enough to ask bold questions like that. (Sephiroth also considered that Harry was just more of a Gryffindor than he would ever be.)

The question didn't seem to surprise them, although Zack and Cloud were hesitant to answer.

"We shouldn't talk about it here," said Cloud, glancing around, eyeing a wizard in plum-colored robes who was holding a caged canary as if he might be a threat. The wizard was covered in soot, his hair sticking in all directions, and there seemed to be a couple feathers growing out of his scalp.

They hadn't hardly moved two steps before a voice called over the bustle of wizards and witches.

"Harry! Sephiroth!"

Ron, Genesis, and Angeal came running through the crowd, people dodging quickly as Genesis stepped on feet and shoved to get by them. His face was torn between annoyance and relief at seeing them, alive and well.

"What took you?" asked Ron.

"We were waiting for ages," said Genesis. "I thought you might have skipped out on us or something."

Then he noticed Cloud and Zack, pinning them under an accusatory glare.

"Who are you?"

"Hello, Genesis," said Sephiroth, sighing. Honestly, he was fond of Genesis, but sometimes he was overbearing. "This is Cloud Strife and Zack Fair—they're the people I wrote to you about."

Angeal pushed forward so he was standing right in front of Sephiroth and Harry, arms crossed.

"Oh, you mean the people you just left with?" he said disapprovingly. "Who could have been anyone? They could have been psychopaths, for all you knew—"

"You're both _small_ ," said Zack, eyes wide. He held his hands close together. "Like, _midgets_. _Mini Angeal and Genesis!_ "

"I'm _not_ short!" snarled Genesis. "Who the hell are you to say I'm short?!"

" _Language_ ," sniped Angeal, though he was eyeing Zack. "So you're the people they're staying with?"

"I already said that," Sephiroth snapped. "We explained in the letters!"

"Your letters were painfully vague!" Genesis griped. "Hasn't anyone taught you how to explain things?"

"I _said_ —"

"That some people knocked down your door and took you from the Muggles, yes," said Genesis impatiently. "Luckily, Harry was a lot better at explaining than you. I thought you had been abducted or something, reading your letter."

Sephiroth's eye twitched. He had missed Genesis—really, he had.

"If Harry explained, then why are you yelling at me?" he asked.

"Because your letter was pathetic and it annoyed me," said Genesis swiftly.

"He was worried sick," Angeal translated.

" _Angeal_!"

The scene was so familiar, Sephiroth couldn't help breaking into laughter. Harry followed him, and soon enough, they were snickering in the middle of Diagon Alley. Standing over them, Cloud was watching Sephiroth closely, almost fascinated.

When they stopped, Genesis returned to watching Cloud and Zack critically.

Sephiroth remembered the very large sword Cloud possessed, which he could wield as if it weight nothing. He hoped Genesis didn't start a fight, because somehow he doubted fire would win against Cloud's brute strength. He was enhanced, like them, but he had had much longer to hone his skills and control his abilities.

"Something you want to ask?" said Zack, staring down at Genesis, unwavering.

"So does that mean you're—"

"Yes," said Cloud.

"You didn't let me finish," said Genesis sourly.

Cloud didn't look put off in the slightest by Genesis's unwelcoming attitude.

"They're protected by us," he said. "We wouldn't let anything happen to them."

Something about those words only seemed to make Genesis even more aggravated, and he opened his mouth, no doubt to say something scathing. Sephiroth wondered if there was anything else that had happened over summer, that he didn't know about. It occurred to him with a jolt that Genesis and Angeal might have remembered something, and it was bothering them.

"Sephiroth—"

"—and Harry, of course!"

Fred and George burst from the crowd in a flurry of sparks—literally, Zack gave an exclamation of wonder. Their wands were letting out a stream of sparks, and Sephiroth noticed their wands seemed to have grown a couple inches in the past few months. They grinned, waving the wands in front of Sephiroth's face with an air of triumph.

"What are those?" asked Zack, once again wide-eyed.

"Like them?" asked Fred.

"We call them 'fake wands'," said George.

"Or something," Fred added. "The name's still up in the air."

Angeal eyed the wands critically.

"Is that what you've been working on all summer?" he asked.

"More or less," said George, unabashed.

"Beats doing homework," said Fred. "Really, who assigns homework—"

"—over the summer?"

Their arrival deflated the tension in the air, Genesis taking a step back and relaxing. Cloud's gaze only shifted to the twins, no less poised than he was beforehand.

At that moment, Mrs. and Mr. Weasley came rushing through the crowd, cheerily introducing themselves to Cloud, who was starting to look severely out of his element, and Zack, who enthusiastically greeted them back. Sephiroth had heard from Ron that his father loved any and all things Muggle-related, but he didn't quite grasp to what extent that love went, until he saw Mr. Weasley questioning Cloud and Zack.

Zack seemed perfectly fine with the questions, while Cloud seemed to be barely hanging onto the conversation. Luckily, Mr. Weasley was distracted from his questions by the sharp, reprimanding glare that Mrs. Weasley sent in his direction. He was sufficiently cowed and Sephiroth didn't blame him for it—Mrs. Weasley truly lived up to the title of mother bear. He could easily picture her ripping through any dark wizard if they threatened a member of her family.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Harry Potter!" said Mr. Weasley. "Pleasure to meet you, I'm Arthur Weasley—Ron's father."

Harry nodded, shaking his hand.

"So, could you tell me," said Mr. Weasley, "what is the function of a rubber duck?"

The question was bizarre and unexpected that Sephiroth almost blurted out that rubber ducks were for protecting oneself when his older brother's menace of a cousin walked into the bathroom at the wrong moment. He decided that probably wasn't the best thing to say, mostly because he hadn't forgotten how Genesis punched Vernon last year. If Genesis was given anymore reasons to dislike the Dursleys, he might just hunt them down."

"Anyway, we drove to your house a few days ago," said Genesis, utterly blasé. "You weren't there, but at least we know why now."

"You did what?" asked Sephiroth flatly.

"Dad enchanted our car to fly," explained Ron hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder at Mrs. Weasley with the look of a person who was prey. "We flew it to your house. Those Muggles must've gotten there first, though."

"You . . . flew a car to our house?" said Harry in numb shock. " _Flew_ a car?"

Ron shuffled even farther away from his mother—Sephiroth noticed Cloud was starting to look slightly alarmed by the amount of questions Mr. Weasley had resumed asking the moment Mrs. Weasley looked away. Someone was going to have to rescue Cloud, because Zack didn't seem concerned by the questions, before he scared Mr. Weasley away or something. Or Sephiroth and Harry needed to get away before it happened, because Sephiroth didn't want to be around if Cloud pulled out his sword. (Where ever it was hiding—he refused to believe Cloud came unarmed.)

"Well, more like crashed," said Ron with a strained laugh.

Genesis scowled.

"It was a perfectly fine landing!"

"You smashed up their front lawn," said Angeal, deeply disapproving. "I think you put a dent in the bumper of their car, too."

"Oh, that was on purpose," said Genesis.

They had flown an enchanted car to the Dursleys' house, and then proceeded to smash up their car. Sephiroth hoped more than ever that he and Harry would never have to return to Privet Drive—he didn't think he could face the Dursleys. With a dented and scratched car, and a ruined front lawn, the Dursleys had to be apoplectic.

"We found bars on one of the windows," said Angeal. "We were really worried."

Sephiroth was beginning to think Angeal wanted to guilt them to death with his eyes. He had always been good at expressing what he thought with a single look, and now that talent was morphing into the ability to make them feel as though they did something horribly wrong.

"That was Harry's room," he said quickly, hoping Angeal would stop _staring_ at him.

"Harry's room?" said Genesis, frowning. "Then where were you sleeping? I checked the house, there was only one free room. I doubt you were sleeping with the pig or his parents."

Sephiroth's brain stuttered to a halt.

"You . . . you what?"

"What, did you think we have X-ray vision?" asked Genesis impatiently. "We can't see through walls, so we had to break in."

Angeal groaned, his hand smacking against his face.

"You broke into the house," said Harry, sounding as lost as Sephiroth felt.

"And found evidence of someone sleeping in the cupboard," said Genesis, swelling with indignation.

"Thinks he's a bloody detective," grumbled Ron.

Sephiroth thought they were well overdue for a change of topic. Although, going off the fixated look in Genesis's eyes, getting him to abandon the conversion was going to be difficult. Unless Sephiroth wanted to initiate a discussion on _Loveless_ (which he didn't), he would be hard-pressed to convince Genesis to let bone go. It pretty much came down to whether he would rather explain he had lived most of his life in a cupboard, or endure through a long-winded lecture on the articulate beauty of _Loveless_. Honestly, neither of them sounded ideal.

He was saved having to explain everything to Genesis by Mrs. Weasley, who suggested they get to shopping. She threw another look at Mr. Weasley, who withdrew from Cloud and Zack again. Cloud was incredibly relieved, and Sephiroth suspected he had been a heartbeat away from telling Mr. Weasley to kindly _shut up_ and back away. Some people didn't mind having their personal space infringed upon, but Cloud wasn't one of them. Zack, on the other hand, hurried ahead to talk with Mr. Weasley, the two men keeping their voices hushed.

Cloud kept close to Sephiroth and Harry, no less uncomfortable with the crowd than he was when they first arrived.

"To the bank," said Mrs. Weasley, humming softly as she inspected the list.

Zack was shocked to step into Gringotts and see the goblins at the counters, counting gems and galleons, rifling through paperwork. It smelled of iron and gold, as it had last time Sephiroth was there, with the underlying salty smell of blood that was all too familiar to Sephiroth's nose. The goblins had Zack and Cloud sign paperwork as Harry's new official guardian. Sephiroth didn't have a vault or a name for himself in the wizarding world, so the goblins inked his name in next to Harry's and were done with it.

The goblins were a nasty bunch, and despite the fact Sephiroth was different from average humans, that didn't mean they would sympathize with him. If anything, they seemed to hate him in particular. Zack and Cloud showed an amazing amount of levelheadedness with the goblins' demeanor towards them, their snide and patronizing way of instructing them where and how to sign the papers. Sephiroth doubted Zack and Cloud had much patience for arrogant people, but they had enough control not to lose themselves over the goblins' blatant needling. _It was admirable_.

"That was different," Zack commented as they were lead into the vaults with the Weasleys.

"I think you mean irritating," said Cloud lowly.

"That too," Zack admitted.

"The goblins are an antisocial bunch," said Mrs. Weasley, which was a nice way of saying they didn't like humans in general.

The ride down through the vaults was exciting, even if Sephiroth didn't exactly appreciate the four-hundred foot drop into complete blackness that jumped out at him every other abrupt turn. The abyss on either side of rails didn't help, either—nor did the green look on Cloud's face, his breathing carefully controlled and mouth clamped shut in the tale-tell signs of motion sickness.

Harry and Zack whooped and shouted as they went up, and then went down a particularly sharp drop, looking for the world as though they were enjoying a roller-coaster. Zack had his arms in the air, laughing with Harry and Genesis. When they finally stopped moving, Cloud left the contraption at a slow crawl, closing his eyes and sitting down on the stone floor. Angeal was telling Ron, who also looked a little green, to take deep breaths. Meanwhile, Zack, Harry, and Genesis were bright-eyed and their hair wind-swept.

Sephiroth's stomach dropped when he saw the Weasley's vault, or what little was inside of it. A couple silver sickles were scattered about, a measly pile in the center of the vault. There was a single Galleon, glinting brightly against the silver. Compared to Harry's fortune, it was depressing. Mrs. Weasley poured it all into her bag, pausing to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Sephiroth wasn't sure they would even be able to buy the school supplies with that little money.

He noticed Harry attempting to hide the tall pile of galleons, sickles, and knuts from the Weasleys as he filled his bag, but Sephiroth could see Ron's gobsmacked expression. He had always known the Weasleys were bad off when he came to finances, but they were truly struggling.

Sephiroth and Harry couldn't quite look the others in the eyes when they emerged from the vaults after retrieving the coins they needed. Cloud and Zack noticed, the latter growing visibly worried.

"Is something wrong?" asked Zack.

Their near-constant worry continued to bemuse Sephiroth.

"Everything's fine," he said.

"You'd say if something was really bothering you, right?" said Zack, frowning. His sharp blue eyes were trained on Sephiroth's own green eyes, and he couldn't seem to look away.

"Yeah," he said.

"That better be a promise," said Zack, face softening into a smile. He reached over and ruffled Sephiroth's hair. "I'll hold you to it!"

Sephiroth hadn't actually made any promises, but he wasn't about to break his word.

* * *

 **A/N: I had to split up this chapter, it turned into a 10,000 word monster even before a rewrite and editing. XD So next chapter will star Gilderoy Lockhart! Honestly I love that guy, he's just so freaking shameless.**

 **I did some proofreading for this, but I've been on the road just about all day and it's been hectic. I'll come back and edit out any other mistakes.**

 **Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! Until next week! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

04

"Oi, there's Hermione!"

Sephiroth glanced around the crowd of Weasleys to see Hermione and two other adults, probably her parents, approaching them. Hermione beamed when she noticed them, waving enthusiastically as her parents started converting Muggle money into galleons and sickles. After informing them of their rendezvous point at Flourish and Blotts in one hour, Mrs. Weasley left with Ginny to buy a set of secondhand robes. She gave Fred and George a final reminder that Knockturn Alley was strictly off-limits, and they all parted ways.

Percy, in his own little world, mumbled something about ink, while Fred and George spotted their friend Lee Jordan. Mr. Weasley turned his inquisitive nature on Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who seemed nonplussed, but amicable, toward the questioning.

Instead of immediately hunting down some of the supplies they needed, Harry opted to stop by an ice-cream shop. They were followed by Cloud, who was more or less a silent but tangible shadow, and Zack, who was more of a constant narrative to everything that caught his eye than a shadow. Zack was a high-energy person even on a normal day, but the atmosphere of Diagon Alley took that and multiplied it tenfold. Sephiroth almost felt bad for Cloud—he was probably nursing a headache, or would be soon.

"I read your letters," said Hermione, concerned, while they were sitting outside of the ice-cream parlor. "I was very worried—if Mr. Strife and Mr. Fair hadn't intervened, my Mum and Dad might've done something."

"It's just Zack," said Zack, beaming. "And this guy's Cloud. Or spike. Or choc-"

"Cloud," said Cloud with an exasperated sigh. "Just call me Cloud."

"But how on earth did you find them?" asked Hermione, keen eyes trained on them and her mind visibly whirling. Sephiroth could tell these questions had been plaguing her since she read their letters. "You knew exactly where and when to find them when their relatives' treatment worsened—how?"

"This one asks the hard questions," mumbled Zack in an undertone that Sephiroth was fairly sure only he and the enhanced members of their group could hear.

"It's complicated," said Cloud, which was a refusal to answer if there ever was one.

Hermione would have pressed for more answers, but it was hard when Cloud seemed to have suddenly grown deaf, or only replied in vague, two or three-worded sentences.

"This is getting nowhere," Genesis complained. He cast Cloud an annoyed look. "Are you going to tell us anything or not?"

Cloud closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again.

"You don't need to know," he said. "It wouldn't change anything."

In unison, they turned to Zack, who held up his hands.

"Hey, don't look at me," he said hastily. "I'm just as mum on the topic."

"Well, if that's how it is . . ." Genesis stood up, making a show of stretching that Sephiroth would bet he didn't to do. He tossed a couple sickles into the air and caught them—Sephiroth decided they were better off not knowing where he found them. "I'm going to the bookstore, see you."

Ron spluttered incoherently as Genesis, for a lack of better words, ditched them. Angeal let out a sigh and moved to follow him.

"I'm gonna make sure he doesn't steal anything," said Angeal flatly.

Hermione looked gobsmacked by the statement.

"He was joking, right?" said Zack with a slightly forced laugh. He glanced at Sephiroth, Harry, and Ron's expressions, and smacked his palm against his forehead. "Oh goddess—he wasn't joking. Why am I so surprised? I shouldn't be."

Sephiroth watched until Genesis and Angeal's retreating backs were nearly obscured by the crowds, before it finally clicked that they had seriously just left them outside the ice-cream parlor. He jumped up and tried to drag Harry with him to chase after them, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione wanted to savor their ice-cream in the shade and stayed. Sephiroth ended up trying to find them alone—stupid idea if there ever was one—and he failed somewhat miserably. The fact he hardly came up to the shoulders of the average witch or wizard in Diagon Alley didn't help matters.

Suffice it to say, Sephiroth got lost.

A man almost elbowed him in the face once—he yelped in surprise as he was knocked into a boy a couple years old than him. Dark hair was tied at his neck and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses were perched crookedly on his nose—he gave a hurried apology, gray eyes momentarily meeting Sephiroth's green, before pushing through the crowd. Soon after that, a cast iron cauldron nearly broadsided Sephiroth, carried by a burly witch, and he thought he should probably wait for Cloud to find him.

He was going to strangle Genesis for leaving so abruptly when they found him.

Except trying to wait in the center of a crowd of fast-paced people felt something like being a little pebble in a river. Sephiroth was knocked around, bouncing off people as he struggled to find his way out of the tangle—really, he couldn't imagine what was so exciting that people would resort to _violence—_ and soon found himself nowhere near the place he started out in. He might have braved it, but that was before he saw the signs for fifty-percent-off hour. People went from impatient and pushy to downright vicious.

Sephiroth took refuge in an alley just off from Diagon Alley. It was curving and narrow, branching out in a jagged way that reminded him of tangled spiderwebs. There were men and women dressed in darker and heavier robes, quickly scurrying up and down the alley, as if they didn't want to be seen. He had most likely somehow ended up in the more disreputable part of Diagon Alley.

Alarm bells were ringing in the back of his head when he noticed a witch with wild hair and a crooked nose smiling at him. Suddenly the stampede occurring in Diagon Alley sounded a lot more inviting. He hadn't so much as turned to escape, before a heavy hand clamped over his shoulder and he was looking up into a pair of dark, sunken eyes.

"Not lost, eh?" said the man.

The witch was stalking over—he could see her yellowed teeth, barred in a gruesome imitation of a smile—and he didn't very much appreciate the smells they were emanating.

"No, not lost," he said, taking a step back and tensing when they both flanked him. He gave a strained smile, waving his hands in front of him. "I'll just be going now!"

He eyed the witch's claw-like hand. If she so much as touched him, he was going to do something he would probably regret. Or maybe not, because the leer on her face unsettled him enough to make him want to punch her on impulse.

"Not often we see a pretty face 'round here," she said, glancing him up and down as if sizing him up—and that was Sephiroth's queue to make like a bat from hell and _run away_.

"Crescent?!"

Sephiroth whirled around, dodging the woman's hand and cringing when he noticed a platter of toe-nails. Just how did he end up in this place again? (Oh yeah, the crowds—he was going to suggest they implement traffic signals in the future).

He had never been so relieved to see the face of Draco Malfoy. He was with a man who looked so much like him, there was no doubting it was his father. Sephiroth immediately darted away from the witch and wizard's grasping hands—they were scowling and muttering curses under their breath, as if they just lost their Christmas present—stopping directly in front of Draco.

He was still staring at Sephiroth, utterly bemused.

"What the bloody—" Draco cut himself off. "What are you doing here?!"

"Is this one of your friends from school, Draco?" asked the pale-haired man.

"What?!" Draco turned a nice shade of salmon pink, waving a finger at Sephiroth in protest. "He's not my friend! We're not even close to friends! He's like this stubborn barnacle that just won't go away!"

" _Barnacle?!_ " Sephiroth said in outrage, but stopped short. "Wait, does that mean I've grown on you?"

"We're definitely _not friends_ ," snapped Draco. "He's Potter's brother."

"Now, now, Draco, there's no need for rudeness," said the man. He held a hand out for Sephiroth to shake. "I do hope you can forgive him. I am Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father."

Sephiroth eyed the hand, half-wondering if it was going to turn into a snake and bite him. He shook it tentatively, almost surprised by its warmth—just a regular human hand.

"I'm Sephiroth Crescent," he said.

"Yes, Draco's told me much about you," said Mr. Malfoy.

"He did?" said Sephiroth, struggling against a smirk. He could see Draco's face rapidly coloring again. However, it also occurred to him that, being Draco, all of the things Mr. Malfoy heard about himself were probably very unflattering.

"All good things," added Mr. Malfoy, the picture of sincerity, but the smile he wore didn't exactly reach his eyes. He looked like Draco, but their eyes were two different stories. One was cold and the other—well, the other was cold in his own right, but it wasn't the kind of frigidness that instantly put Sephiroth on guard.

Sephiroth wonder if, with time, Draco's eyes would come to look that cold as well. It was more unnerving to imagine than he would care to admit.

Still, it was either Mr. Malfoy or braving the nasty witch and wizard from before, who hadn't stopped watching him with the attentiveness of starved dogs. Of the two choices, Mr. Malfoy was the obvious lesser evil, and he decided he could stick to Draco (even if that made him think of barnacles, which was annoying). The worst that could happen would be having to listen to Harry and Genesis complain for the next two weeks. Harry was going to be in a foul mood when he discovered Draco was in the area.

"Are you here alone?" asked Mr. Malfoy, glancing around. For a second, his eyes landed on the witch and wizard, who froze. A heartbeat later they scurried away, looking thoroughly cowed.

"Um . . ." Sephiroth avoided Mr. Malfoy's eyes, in case he had some sort of mind-reading power that made people run away in terror. "No. I'm here with my brother and guardians."

"Is that so?"

Sephiroth really didn't know how to talk to Mr. Malfoy. He was cool-tempered and somewhat polite on the outside, but something about him made Sephiroth's skin crawl. Now that the witch and wizard were gone, he could probably make a break for Diagon Alley (and end up trampled under the feet of a thousand poor, desperate wizards looking for a good deal on their ink wells). He doubted Draco wanted him around for an extended period of time, especially considering his father was in the same vicinity.

"I'll just—" he awkwardly pointed back up, where he suddenly noticed the alley split into three. One of the streets led to Diagon Alley, he knew that. He could remember the right one—probably.

"You'll just get lost," huffed Draco, all bluster and no real irritation. "We're almost done here, right, father?"

Mr. Malfoy inclined his head grandly in confirmation. Sephiroth wondered if all very-rich people acted like that, or if it was just a Malfoy thing.

"We're buying a broom next?" said Draco, clearly expecting a yes for an answer.

"Not quite," said Mr. Malfoy, longsuffering. "We still have one more stop here."

"But I thought—"

"We are _almost_ done, indeed," said Mr. Malfoy, turning and striding deeper into the alley, leaving Draco floundering in embarrassment.

Sephiroth came to the swift conclusion that Mr. Malfoy was a major arse.

"Well, see you later," said Sephiroth, making to leave (in what he hoped was the right direction).

Draco grabbed the back of his shirt.

"Forget it, Crescent," he snapped. "I said it before, you'll get lost."

"But—"

But what Draco Malfoy wanted, Draco Malfoy got, so Sephiroth found himself reluctantly tagging along in what he now knew was called Knockturn Alley. He vividly remembered Mrs. Weasley telling Fred and George that this place was off-limits, and she would likely be furious when she learned he had gone down here. Not that it was his fault. He had gotten lost, but somehow he doubted that would dissuade her protective spirit. He just hoped that Zack found him first—he would act as a buffer, in the very least.

"What's this place?" asked Sephiroth when they stopped.

"Can't you _read?_ " said Draco, every bit as waspish as Hermione. He probably wouldn't have appreciated the comparison.

"Borgin and Burks, I know," said Sephiroth. "But what does this place sell? Is that a _hand_? It's not a real hand, is it?"

He had a sickening flashback of blood and limbs and stopped himself from going there—it took longer than a single summer to make bad memories lose their sting.

"It's just a charm—probably not real," said Draco, although he kept a wary eye on it as they entered the shop. Or, he did right up until he spotted a glass eye on display.

Sephiroth cringed away, while Draco went for a closer look.

"Touch nothing, Draco," said Mr. Malfoy, before giving the bell on the counter a ring.

"I thought you were going to buy me a present," said Draco in protest.

"You want an eyeball for a present?" blurted Sephiroth, unable to help himself. He gave Draco a disbelieving look. "An _eye_?"

"Well—" Draco cut himself off, grasping for something to say and failing. "It's a _glass_ eye."

" _Then just buy a marble!_ "

Draco had a bad taste in gifts, Sephiroth noted. A glass eyeball, a broom—next thing he knew, Draco would be joining the Quidditch team. Draco seemed to be a little more level-headed than that, though. He didn't strike Sephiroth as the kind to enjoy adrenaline-kicking things like Quidditch.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" Malfoy was complaining loudly.

Sephiroth decided right then and there, he was a terrible judge of character.

"And Harry Potter—"

"What about my brother?" asked Sephiroth sharply, promising Draco retribution if he didn't like what he heard.

"I, um . . ." Draco was at a loss for words.

That was when a stooped man finally shuffled his way behind the counter, striking up a conversation with Mr. Malfoy about buying and selling something important. It was all very boring and business-related, so Sephiroth sort of tuned everything they said out. He heard a couple random snatches about the Ministry, and something about Mr. Weasley and a Muggle-Protection law that would soon be passed. Sephiroth wondered why they needed to pass a law stating it was illegal to bother Muggles in the first place. To him, it seemed as though it should have been common courtesy.

He noticed Draco staring at the hand again, and his eye twitched.

"Really, what is it with you and body parts?" he said, walking up next to him.

"I'm not—it's just weird," said Draco. "I want to know if it's a real hand."

"D'you really think they'd . . . you know, cut off a hand and then sell it?" asked Sephiroth, disturbed.

Draco shrugged.

"Maybe, I heard in Egypt they busted a man selling bits and pieces of mummies found in the pyramids," he said. "Suppose this is a part of one of those mummies?"

"I thought mummies were wrapped up in cloth," said Sephiroth doubtfully.

The store-owner, Mr. Borgin, called over to them when he noticed what had caught their curiosity.

"That is the Hand of Glory!" he said eagerly, seeming to materialize next to them. Mr. Malfoy looked none too pleased with the list left on the counter. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! You son has fine taste, sir."

"It's a dismembered hand," Sephiroth deadpanned.

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," Mr. Malfoy replied, positively chilly.

"No offense, sir, no offense meant—"

Sephiroth was getting the same feeling from back when he found out the short-haired Cerberus was called _Fluffy_. This time, he was pretty certain he wasn't caught up on unnecessary details—the fact it was a dismembered hand seemed vital.

"Though if his grades don't pick up, that may indeed be all he is fit for—"

Suddenly, Sephiroth wanted to be anywhere else _but_ in here.

"It's not my fault," said Draco bitterly. "That Hermione Granger—"

 _Is my friend_ , Sephiroth was going to interrupt, but decided against it, because Mr. Malfoy was starting to look annoyed. He had been nothing but poised the entire time and Sephiroth didn't really feel like catching his attention at the moment.

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam."

Now that was plainly unfair. Hermione was highly intelligent and the top of the year—the only way Draco could beat her was to be at the top of all his classes. Not everyone had that kind of dedication (read: _obsession_ ) to their studies. The only reason Sephiroth had passed any of his exams was because of Hermione's slave-driving habits, and the strange luck he had remembering things.

"It's the same all over," Mr. Borgin interjected. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere—"

Sephiroth was fairly sure he was getting the wrong message here. Either that, or wizard blood was worth money on the market. He hadn't seen any blood drives, though. Unless it was only a back-alley thing that was generally looked down upon. (Sephiroth really, really wanted Cloud to hurry up and find him).

As if he sensed Sephiroth's distress, the door slammed open and Cloud walked in—and he didn't look to be in a very good mood. His eyebrows were furrowed into a frown and the look he threw Mr. Malfoy was nothing short of icy.

"Sephiroth," he said sharply.

It hadn't occurred to Sephiroth that Cloud might not be happy to find him in a shop full of blatantly dark artifacts. Zack wasn't with him, so Sephiroth assumed he had stayed with Harry and the others.

"Who is that?" asked Draco, somewhat rudely.

"He's . . ." Sephiroth trailed off, unsure of how exactly to describe Cloud. "My brother's and my guardian."

"I'm looking after him," said Cloud. Those four words sounded very simple, uncomplicated, and summed everything up neatly. Yet, Sephiroth was left with the baffling _warmth, relief, happiness_ that resulted from it.

Cloud turned to him, a non-verbal request that Sephiroth heeded without a beat. He waved back at Draco, whose confusion turned into annoyance and blatantly turned away, and stepped out onto Knockturn Alley.

"Cloud," said Sephiroth hesitantly, looking up at him unblinkingly. "About what Harry asked earlier. How did . . . Did we know each other well?"

A long period of silence reigned, Cloud slipping through the seedy and shifty clusters of witches and wizards hanging in the shadows of the alley. It seemed that he would play deaf, ignoring Sephiroth question entirely, but eventually he glanced down again.

"Later," he said.

Cloud braced a hand on Sephiroth's shoulder and propelled him through Knockturn Alley at a faster pace. Something about the alley was unnerving him—Sephiroth wasn't sure how he knew, but he did—and he wasted no time in forcing Sephiroth to keep up. His mind was hardly in the alley, though, whirling through a list of question upon question, all of which would hopefully be answered _later_. Whenever that was.

"What was that man doing there?" asked Cloud abruptly.

"What?"

"The man in Borgin and Burkes, with the boy," Cloud elaborated. "What was he doing?"

"You mean Lucius Malfoy—" Sephiroth could have sworn he saw Cloud's eye twitch and pegged him for one who didn't tolerate purposefully slow people. "He was . . . Um."

Cloud eyed him imploringly.

"I . . . don't know?" said Sephiroth, almost quailing under Cloud's unreadable look. "There was this hand and a glass eye and I kind of . . . wasn't paying attention."

They rounded a corner (he had the distinct feeling Knockturn Alley was set up to be like a maze) and avoided a grabby couple of people. Sephiroth dunked behind Cloud's other side when he noticed the yellow-toothed, toenail-selling witch from before, the wizard following close to her. Cloud must have understood, because he didn't comment on Sephiroth's virtually using him as a meat shield. Instead, he merely let out a sigh.

"You should be more observant," he said.

They reached Diagon Alley soon after that, but Sephiroth was left with the lingering certainty there was double-meaning to those words, just like every other thing Cloud, Zack, and Aerith ever said.

Sephiroth and Cloud rejoined the others—Zack was holding a bag full of rockets that reportedly flew in the shape of cranes in mini flares of gold and red—their hour of free-time used up, and left for Flourish and Blotts. Usually, the bookstore should have been one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley, but as soon as Sephiroth's eyes fixed on the giant crowd struggling to push through the door, he felt a nearly crippling level of dread. People were whispering, shouting, shoving around each other to get a better look at whatever lay inside.

Without a doubt, there was something truly awful inside that store. Sephiroth would rather not find out exactly was giving him that feeling, but their school books were in that building. He had no choice in the matter.

Sephiroth glanced up at Zack and Cloud for a little encouragement—they were always strong willed and confident. His heart jumped when he saw Zack looking a little gray.

"You feel that?" he said.

"What?" asked Sephiroth, wide-eyed.

"There's true evil in there," said Zack.

"Don't scare him," said Cloud.

" _But it's true!_ "

Mrs. Weasley was fixing her hair compulsively, checking the curls and straightening her robes, which baffled Sephiroth and made Genesis roll his eyes so hard Sephiroth thought they might get stuck in the back of his head.

"We'll have to edge our way in," said Mrs. Weasley, craning her neck to get a better view.

Genesis promptly held up a fiery hand.

"Leave this to me," he said with relish.

"You are _not_ burning your way inside," she said sternly.

Genesis opened his mouth.

"Blowing a hole in the way isn't acceptable, either," she cut in.

"Well then, good luck getting inside _this year_ ," he snapped.

"Do we even need these books?" said Angeal doubtfully, inspecting the list with a critical frown. "They all sound like fiction, action-adventure. I thought school was supposed to be informative."

"You'll learn a good deal in those books," said Mrs. Weasley, shuffling them along the clogged line of wizards and witches waiting to enter Flourish and Blotts. "It's Gilderoy Lockhart."

Cloud gave a small, almost nonexistent spasm. Sephiroth threw him an inquiring look, but he was deftly ignored. ( _As usual)_. However, now Cloud and Zack both were looking at the store with heavy speculation, sharp blue eyes narrowed. Whatever they saw seemed to displease them, but Cloud rolled his shoulders back and stepped forward calmly, slanting a glare at the wizards and witches around him.

They all parted like a vast, collected ocean.

It was hard not to notice Cloud when he wanted to be seen, even more so when one considered the sword that had appeared in his hand (" _Oh my goddess, Cloud, what are you doing?!_ "). He was staring murder at them, the blade glinting ominously in the patchy sunlight. Sephiroth almost suffered a miniature panic attack, certain they were about to be arrested or stopped—or _something_. He wasn't well-versed with the law (he noticed Percy had blanched and took that as a bad sign), but pulling weapons like that couldn't be legal.

Cloud's sword dispelled a half-second later, the way cleared. Without preamble, he strode inside, only pausing to glance back at Sephiroth and Harry. They rushed to keep up, unwilling to risk the sword—about three of Sephiroth put together, in weight and size—being summoned on them as well.

Behind them, Mrs. Weasley seemed conflicted between disapproval and the relief that she wouldn't have to wait in line. Eventually, saving time won out and she herded the rest of the Weasley family after them. Sephiroth heard Genesis grumble something about wanting a sword, something Angeal mirrored with a look of consideration.

"Why are they all here anyway?" asked Sephiroth as they stepped inside.

Angeal motioned back at the window, where a large banner was displayed. They couldn't see what was written on it from the inside of the store, though.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is signing copies of his autobiography," said Genesis derisively. "Who'd want to read that?"

"All of them," said Ron flatly, stabbing a thumb his shoulder at the squealing women, who were once again fighting over the door.

"What's an autobiography?" said Sephiroth, and almost instantly regretted it when Genesis went near-apoplectic.

"It's a story of his life, written by him," he said, reigning in his annoyance. "Narcissistic son of troll."

Hermione, on the other hand, looked elated and more than a little irritated at Genesis's badmouthing of Gilderoy Lockhart. She scowled at him defiantly.

"He's a brilliant wizard and author," she said. " _And_ he's written most of the booklist!"

Sephiroth had seen the names of the books they were assigned. It hadn't filled him with hope then, and it certainly didn't now. They pushed around a trio of giggling middle-aged women (it was _far_ more terrifying than it sounded), each snatching up a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and avoiding eye-contact with all other wizards and witches in the store. Sephiroth was afraid their behavior might be contagious.

After getting the one book on their list that wasn't written by Gilderoy Lockhart, Sephiroth attempted to make a break with Genesis to the other side of the store. Harry could get his books for him and he could avoid meeting Gilderoy Lockhart, because the feeling of dread from earlier had turned into unbridled horror. Without a single doubt in his mind, Sephiroth knew meeting Lockhart would be one of the worst moments of his life. Hence why he and Genesis tried to avoid it.

Hermione _glared_ and grabbed their arms, and while they were both leagues stronger than her, they also somewhat relied on her notes. Sephiroth was a lot better at taking care of himself in classes, due to her more or less forcing him to, but he still preferred it when she would at least proofread his assignments. It occurred to him that this kind of homework-related blackmail might doom him in the future and he should really just stop relying on her—cold turkey.

Although Genesis didn't rely on Hermione for anything, so it was a mystery why he didn't just escape.

The constant worry that meeting Lockhart would be horrible turned out to be false—no, meeting him turned into something absolutely mortifying and Sephiroth, when later asked, would deny remembering it at all.

Hermione tugged them into line with the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley was watching carefully, still finger-combing her hair.

Then Gilderoy Lockhart himself finally walked out onto the stage—it wasn't a real stage, of course, but it might as well have been, the way he strutted—soaking in the attention of his fans. He reminded Sephiroth of a plant that was trying to photosynthesize in the sun. The color of his robes, a flower-like blue, only served to feed the mental image. Sephiroth concluded that Gilderoy Lockhart was related to a plant and that he had seen enough, turning to leave.

"It can't be—Harry Potter?"

Sephiroth's stomach dropped to the ground and he turned again, just in time to witness Harry blanch in pure horror. For a moment, the familial urge to protect his brother warred with natural self-preservation. Sephiroth wavered for a couple seconds too long—

He nearly shrieked when a ringed hand landed on his shoulder, and it was by pure will power, and the thought of Genesis's laughing face, that he stayed composed.

"Standing close to a pretty girl!" said Gilderoy Lockhart. He gave Harry an exaggerated wink. "The albino ones are rare, lucky chap!"

Sephiroth wanted to die on the spot. He begged Cloud and Zack with his eyes to kill him, right now.

Instead he found Cloud, unflappable and stoic Cloud, slightly hunched over with a hand over his mouth. His shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. And just behind him—Zack was howling with mirth.

"You're _laughing?!_ " he yelled, his voice pitched a couple octaves higher than normal.

Harry looked sick, stunned, and only half-aware of what was happening. That was probably why he said—

"That's my sister—brother!" he yelped, noticing Sephiroth's disbelieving stare. "He's my _brother_."

Lockhart didn't seem to be listening, laughing and patting their heads, smiling in a way that was probably supposed to be inspirational but just made Sephiroth want to punch him. Sephiroth dearly hoped he had heard the _brother_ part of Harry's words. He would never recover if the Hogwarts rumor mill started to spin with tales of Sephiroth secretly being a cross-dressing girl. And the rumors _would_ reach Hogwarts at startling speeds, because he'd spotted a few other students in the store. All it took was one word, and then the rumors would snowball and—Sephiroth, once again, wanted to die.

"You know what this calls for?" said Lockhart, laughing boisterously as he slung his arms around Sephiroth and Harry. He winked heavily at a cluster of woman, who swooned. "This calls for a picture! How about it?"

Sephiroth was going to hold a grudge against Cloud and Zack for the rest of his life. Cloud was just standing there and doing absolutely nothing, barely managing to hold onto his composure. Zack was even worse—he didn't try to hide the fact he was amused. The humiliation wasn't even close to hilarious—but Genesis was almost falling over himself laughing, too. At the moment, Sephiroth hated them all.

"Nice big smile," grinned Lockhart, drumming his fingers along Sephiroth's shoulder. He stopped himself from breaking Lockhart's wrist. (Cloud and Zack had both stopped laughing abruptly). "Together, just Harry and I are worth the front page. And no one ever says no to a pretty face."

Death was too good for Lockhart. Sephiroth was going to hunt down his ghost when he died (or after Sephiroth killed him—whichever happened first) and torture that as well.

Sephiroth replaced his previous assessment of Lockhart being related to a plant, with that of an octopus. No matter how many times he and Harry tried to slip away, Lockhart managed to keep hold of their shoulders. He could shake hands with his fans, wave the cameramen around, and _still_ ensure they didn't escape. He was overbearing and it had already been uncomfortable before, but now Sephiroth really just wanted to knee Lockhart in the stomach and be over with it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Lockhart grandly, and Cloud, who had started forward to finally rescue Sephiroth and Harry, paused. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!

"When young Harry here—" he gave Harry's shoulders a shake, "—stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography—which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge."

People clapped appropriately. Sephiroth went to call him on his nonsense, but was verbally trampled over. His day couldn't get any worse.

"He had no idea that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me."

Genesis grumbled something that Sephiroth couldn't hear, but it made Angeal smack the back of his head and Hermione go bright red.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

And just like that—Sephiroth's day got worse. The rest of the year was bound to be just as terrible.

"It will be my honor to teach students like Harry Potter and this young girl right here," said Lockhart, shaking Sephiroth's shoulders again.

"I'm a boy," he corrected.

Lockhart laughed again—just as uproariously as the last time.

"Greater witches have tried and failed to fool me!"

The audience went wild. Mrs. Weasley looked suspicious. Despite his words, Lockhart leaned in to look a little closer and seemed to finally notice Sephiroth's full appearance, eyebrows raising slightly.

"Such eyes!" he said. He motioned for a cameraman. "What is your parentage? A unique face like this can't have come from human regular parents."

Sephiroth shrank away, his mortification turning into anger. The cameraman held the camera up closer to his face, ignoring Harry's heated protests.

"That's enough."

Cloud's presence seemed to suddenly fill up the entire bookstore, emanating intense displeasure. He closed his hand around the cameraman's wrist, shoving him away, and then none-too-gently tugging Sephiroth and Harry from Lockhart's tentacles. When Lockhart tried to protest—Zack threw him a look that was nothing short of terrifying. Maybe it was because Zack seemed to always be so lighthearted and cheerful, but somehow his anger was even more frightening.

As soon as they were out of earshot from Lockhart, Sephiroth spun around to glare at Cloud in outrage. Harry dumped the pile of books he had received into Ginny's cauldron, preferring to buy his own rather than take any charity of Lockhart's.

"You didn't help at all!" said Sephiroth heatedly.

Genesis wandered over at that moment, smirking widely.

"Well, your face when he called you "little girl" was just priceless," he said. His smirk transformed into a dark scowl. "I _can't believe_ he's _teaching at Hogwarts_. We're DOOMED!"

A couple women glared at them—Genesis showed how much he cared by flashing them a very rude hand sign.

"Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page?" said Draco Malfoy, descending the stairs from the second level of the library. "And just had to drag your little brother—sorry, I meant sister—into it."

Sephiroth, thoroughly fed up with the day in general, hurtled a copy _Magical Me_ at Draco's head. If he hadn't been holding back, the hit probably would have knocked him unconscious. Sephiroth didn't want Lucius Malfoy cursing him or something, though, so it only left Draco badly stunned.

"I am a _boy_!" he yelled. "How many times do I have to remind you people?!"

Cloud patted his shoulder, eyes shining with understanding.

"It doesn't get better."

The statement made Sephiroth's day all the more depressing. So did the truthfulness in Cloud's voice.

A couple witches shuffled over to make way for Ron and Hermione, their arms full of Lockhart's books. Hermione's face was slightly flushed and Ron was scowling heavily, his expression morphing into annoyance when he noticed Draco standing there.

"What're you doing here?" asked Ron grumpily.

"The same as you," said Draco. "Although I'll confess myself surprised to see you in a shop, Weasley. I suppose your pare—"

Sephiroth reached for another book and Draco wisely cut himself off.

They were joined by a harried-looking Mr. Weasley, who was practically dragging Fred and George behind him. "What are you all doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

Sephiroth was all too happy to leave Flourish and Blotts, and was very close to having a minor fit when they were stopped yet again. This time, it was the drawling and cold voice of Lucius Malfoy. He laid a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley curtly.

The tension was, understandably, palpable. While the topic of Ron, Genesis, and Angeal's father's job had never particularly come up in conversation the previous year, all of the Weasleys had seemed far too twitchy at the mention of "Malfoy" to not have some kind of history with them. It seemed that familiarity came from Mr. Weasley's job at the Ministry.

The two men stared each other down for a good fifteen seconds.

Sephiroth really just wanted to go, feeling thoroughly traumatized by being in close proximity to Lockhart for an extended period of time. He had a feeling it would take him awhile to stop associating Flourish and Blotts with with that awful experience. It was something like getting physically sick after eating a certain food, and now he was mortally terrified of that food. Only it was a bookstore and Sephiroth didn't think he was capable of being scared of food.

 _And_ _oh god, it just hit him that Gilderoy Lockhart is going to be their teacher for a whole year_.

Sephiroth wasn't looking forward to Hogwarts as much as he was before they came to Diagon Alley. He wondered if Aerith could just spy on the lessons and then teach him at their new home—she was a good instructor, very patient, and seemed to enjoy teaching. It would give him plenty of time to work up the courage to ask Cloud about everything. (Even though he had already promised him he would do that _soon_ , and Sephiroth realized it would have to wait until next year—he was staying at the Weasleys with Harry. Cloud was a sneaky git for dodging Sephiroth's questions _again_.)

Sephiroth tuned into Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley's conversation, which was rapidly spiraling into very impolite and unprofessional, and blinked in confusion. He couldn't help but wonder where the cool and collected Lucius Malfoy had gone, because the man who had swept through Knockturn Alley only an hour ago had seemed the type to do the irritating, not succumbing to irritation.

Then again, Mr. Weasley seemed to be getting angrier a whole lot faster, and if something wasn't done, they were going to resort to blows. Or curses. They were wizards after all, both pureblood and born into using magic—not physical violence.

Sephiroth eyed the bookshelves and decided to duck behind the one lined with thick encyclopedias. Then he pictured several dozen heavy encyclopedias falling on his head and switched his choice to the magazine stand, which was low-laying but would hopefully offer good cover when the curses started flying.

Draco looked even more baffled than Sephiroth at the sight of his father picking a fight with Mr. Weasley, a man he clearly found inferior.

"Is something wrong?" asked Sephiroth.

"I don't know?" said Draco vaguely, sounding very confused.

Sephiroth silently urged Mr. Weasley to let it go—he wanted to leave. Then again, no one had ever said he had to leave Flourish and Blotts with the Weasleys. Decision made, Sephiroth set for the door—just as Mr. Weasley lunged at Mr. Malfoy, an elbow clad in the finest black, accented with green, silk planted itself nicely into the side of Sephiroth's face.

He didn't even fall over, resigning himself to a life of head injuries, and stumbled sideways. Then Mr. Malfoy's cane went flying and almost struck him.

First a wrong turn down Knockturn Alley, dismembered body parts for sale, Gilderoy Lockhart, and now two adults were brawling like Muggle school children. Sephiroth was so _done_.

He grabbed Ginny's cauldron, up-ended it (ignoring her startled cry) to dump the books onto the ground, and slammed it over Mr. Malfoy's head. Then he jammed his knee into Mr. Weasley's stomach, swept his legs out from under his body, and left him in a befuddled pile on the ground.

Mr. Malfoy clawed at the cauldron over his head and Mr. Weasley gasped, the air knocked from his lungs.

Sephiroth was already halfway out the door, his hair swishing behind him like a bright, silver victory banner. He let the door slam closed, having sort of broken the magical equivalent to a hydrolic system keeping it from swinging closed too fast, on his way out. This had been a long and trying two hours and Sephiroth wanted to slam a door to let everyone know. It was immature and foolish, but he was beyond caring at this point.

The crowd of wizards and witches still standing outside Flourish and Blotts quickly stepped aside when they saw the borderline murderous expression he wore. It wasn't until he had nearly walked all the way to the far side of Diagon Alley that he calmed down enough to think about what he just did.

He shoved a cauldron over Mr. Malfoy's head.

He hadn't seen Draco's face, but he was probably very upset. Somehow that only caused Sephiroth's mood to plummet even further. Genesis was going to be absolutely furious—he had kneed his father in the gut.

By the time he wove through the crowd and reached Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor, most of his anger had ebbed into a sinking kind of depression that resulted from creeping guilt. He really hadn't needed to resort to violence—even though Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley got into a fight beforehand, and he stopped it with the use of stronger hits—but he had just moved. That seemed to happen to him a lot.

"Seph!"

Sephiroth turned to see Harry running after him, pushing through the throngs of people. He slowed his gait to let Harry catch up. He sped up again when he spotted Genesis plowing through innocent pedestrians.

"That was brilliant," said Harry, breathing heavily.

Genesis reached them and Cloud ambled over, seeming unconcerned by the entire situation. Hermione and Ron darted around him and joined their cluster in the middle of Diagon Alley, the former with a stormy look that spelled a lecture. Sephiroth braced himself.

"You put a _cauldron_ over Malfoy's Dad's head," said Genesis, breaking into laughter. " _A cauldron_. You should have seen the look on Malfoy's face, it was amazing. His Dad was spitting angry, though."

"I kneed your Dad," said Sephiroth, feeling as though he shouldn't have to remind Genesis of the action.

"He can handle a hit," said Genesis breezily.

"I was going to step in a stop them anyway," said Zack, grinning. "You were just a little more showy."

"That's not what we should be talking about!" said Hermione in outrage. "You just publicly humiliated one of the most influential people in the Ministry! The Malfoys have close ties with the _Minister of Magic_ , Sephiroth! He could ruin your life he wanted to!"

"Has he filed a lawsuit yet?" asked Sephiroth blankly.

Genesis frowned.

"I think you mean restraining order?" he suggested.

Hermione let out a wordless sound of frustration. Sephiroth almost felt sorry for her.

"I don't think _either_ of you know what you're talking about," she said. "Sephiroth, you should go back and apolo—"

"No way, I'm not stepping foot in that store again," said Sephiroth stubbornly. "Not with Lockhart in there."

It was Genesis's turn to let out a tortured groan.

"He's going to be our _teacher_ ," he said. "Can you imagine that? He'll be winking at us all year. _All—year._ "

Sephiroth covered his ears in dismay.

"Stop that, I don't want to think about it," he said, shuddering. "He had his _hands_ on me. It was awful."

There was a beat, then Genesis said, "Think we can sue?"

"You are _not_ going to sue Gilderoy Lockhart!" said Hermione, a little shrill. Her cheeks were flushed again. "He was being friendly!"

Harry, Genesis, and Sephiroth gave her wooden stares. Cloud cleared his throat, gaining their attention.

"If he gets friendly again, he'll be answering to me."

Zack firmly nodded his agreement.

"He's not some—some kind of pervert!" protested Hermione, although she faltered a little under Zack's subduing look.

"But a cauldron," said Ron, breaking into another round of snickers. "I'm never going to get that image out of my head. Let's see Malfoy try to call someone thickheaded again."

They wandered around Diagon Alley for a short while longer, gathering the few odds and ends they would need for their next year.

Sephiroth's mind was taken off of Flourish and Blotts when they passed by a restaurant and his stomach reminded him that it existed. There was a round of eye-rolling, and Genesis suggested Sephiroth eat an apple, with an amused glint in his eyes. (Except he hadn't had an apple and expected an entirely different response from Sephiroth—who, in turn, once again felt the need to punch him in the stomach).

Zack and Cloud stayed with them, constant and steady, but somehow managing to stay out of the way. Sephiroth also had a sneaking suspicion that Cloud's presence was making all the shop owners lower the prices on their wares, because nothing caused a sudden sale like a man with glowing eyes and a heavy kind of aura. He ended up watching Cloud out of the corner of his eyes the entire time, unsure whether to believe Cloud would actually intimidate people into lowering their prices.

If it wasn't Cloud, then it was Zack—grinning at people and trying to haggle the prices down with enough enthusiasm to blow the shops down.

They visited a candy shop and Sephiroth stopped caring how they got the shop owners to lower the prices.

Half an hour, one long lecture from Hermione about the care of his teeth, and something about dentures later, and they were leaving Diagon Alley. They would be using the Floo network, whatever that was, Sephiroth had no idea, and this was where he and Harry would be Cloud would be parting ways. Mrs. Weasley was standing by the fireplace, holding a bowl of white powder and waving her sons closer.

"Why a fireplace?" asked Sephiroth.

"Dunno," said Harry, half-shrugging.

That was when Percy stepped into the fireplace, announced "The Burrow," and dissolved into green flames. Sephiroth tripped over himself backing away, almost falling flat onto the road. Percy was gone.

"What was that?!" demanded Zack, eyes darting from Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, to the fireplace.

Cloud had taken a half-step forward, just as alarmed as Zack at watching someone disintegrate into flames.

Mr. Weasley looked confused for a moment, before his face cleared.

"Oh, you're from the Muggle world! I thought—" he shook his head (and Sephiroth would bet he was thinking of the moment Cloud summoned his weapon to scare off the customers outside Flourish and Blotts), explaining quickly. "It's the Floo network. You step in, very clearly state where you wish to go, and drop the Floo powder."

"Instantaneous transport?" said Zack, vaguely impressed.

"More or less," said Mr. Weasley. "Can be a little tricky, the Floo. It's imperative that the destination is enunciated clearly, or else you'll end up in the wrong fireplace. There's loads to choose from, after all."

Sephiroth didn't want to step in that fireplace. He didn't want to go up in flames, even if he wasn't actually on fire, and he didn't want to risk being spat out in the wrong fireplace. Mrs. Weasley was appraising Cloud as a guardian, smilingly admitting that she hadn't expected him to look after Sephiroth and Harry the entire day—apparently Zack had informed her that Cloud would probably just drop them off and leave. Sephiroth had a feeling Cloud would be having words with Zack about sending letters to people.

Sooner than later, most of the Weasley children had gone through, including Angeal and Genesis, who Sephiroth swore enjoyed getting set on fire. The only one left was Ginny, who was watching Harry as stealthily as she could, half-hidden behind her mother. Harry didn't notice, caught up in Mr. Weasley's second explanation of how the Floo worked, but Sephiroth could see her. He could see, and he didn't like how she was staring at his brother. Starving lions looked less hungry than she did, Sephiroth noted sourly. (He would definitely be keeping a close eye on Ginevra Weasley).

"Come along, Sephiroth," said Mrs. Weasley kindly, waving him closer. "Take a handful of the powder and say, nice and clearly, ' _The Burrow_.'"

He really rather not, thanks. But Genesis had gone through, and Sephiroth's pride wouldn't allow him to be shown up. He scooped up some of the white powder, stepping into the fireplace. He tried not to look like he was about to be burned to death.

He dropped the powder, loudly announcing, "The Burrow!"

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you guys don't mind the long chapters... Because they seem to keep getting longer and longer. XD Hopefully the next one will be a little more manageable.**

 **I feel like my characterization of Gilderoy Lockhart got creepy there for a second. XD But he absolutely thinks Sephiroth is a girl and I don't think much will be able to dissuade him otherwise. And even if he did realize he's wrong-he would never admit it. Poor Seph. XD**

 **Thanks for all the favorites, follows, and reviews!**

 **AND Omake time (I might do a bunch like this XD):**

* * *

Zack and the Fast Food Restaurant

Zack didn't really know how he managed to score the job-it wasn't as though he had this world's equivalent of a high school diploma-but he did and that was all that mattered. It wasn't a bad job, he got to speak with plenty of people coming in and out of the restaurant, although most of them would run in, grab their food, and dart out, leaving Zack feeling somewhat dejected.

And then there were the people that walked in, took one look at his smiling face, and walked out again.

Now that was just unacceptable. A business needed customers to buy things, bring in revenue so that they could upgrade their wares and maybe install a better AC unit. Zack really just wanted that AC unit. That, and he really did want the business to boom. So, there was only one thing for it: Zack would have to help in every way he knew to get people to come buy the restaurant's food.

"Hey, sir, can't I interest you in-"

The man turned and left-he started running when Zack chased after him.

"Would you like an extra side of fries?" asked Zack to a woman ordering. When she shook her head, he added, "Are you sure?"

She looked very annoyed.

"A _salad_?" said Zack, aghast at the teenager in front of him. "You're ordering a _salad_ at a burger joint? What's wrong with you?"

"And you got fired . . ." said Aerith, five hours later, as Zack slumped over the dining room table.

He was moping spectacularly, head rested on his folded arms.

"Zack," sighed Aerith. "You can't run down your customers."

"But-"

"And don't question what they order."

"But a _salad_ -"

" _Zack_ ," said Aerith.

"Fine, fine _,_ " mumbled Zack, pulling out a pile of resumes. "I've still got some choices here."

* * *

 **A/N: I've ordered salads at burger joints before (that teenager was probably me). So no insult to people who do that. XD**


	5. Chapter 5

05

A booming explosion rocked Sephiroth awake the following morning.

He rolled out of bed, feet tangled in the sheets and tripping over himself, and then pitched off the side of the bed with a startled yelp. Matted silver hair hung in his face and caught under his hands when he tried to push himself up, causing him to fall all over again. For the first time in his life, Sephiroth seriously considered cutting off his hair—right then and there—because fifteen seconds after waking up was _not_ the time for these kinds of technical difficulties.

"Morning!" came the all-too cheery voice of George Weasley, hovering over a piece of parchment that was smoking dangerously.

Sephiroth brushed his hair aside, untangling himself from the sheets, and stumbled to his feet. He felt a little like death warmed over and suspected he didn't look much better. For a moment, he stared at them blearily.

"Nice landing," commented Fred, who was blindfolded and ripping parchment into squares.

Sephiroth decided he really didn't want to know and headed for the door.

He was strong-armed (by Fred and George) the previous night into bunking with them. They had warned him they would be working on an experiment of some sort in the morning, but he had forgotten about it fairly soon. He might have remembered, but only an hour after arriving at the Burrow, an owl had swooped in carrying a letter from Zack.

The letter boiled down to: _I'm very bored right now, Cloud's off doing Cloud stuff, Aerith's in the garden and she doesn't trust me not to step on the flowers—really it was only one time—and I need someone to talk to. Are the Weasleys treating you well? Hurry and write back!_ It also included a truly horrific nickname that Zack came up with on the spot, which Sephiroth hoped would never reach the light of day outside of the very short conversation between Zack and himself.

The only problem was that he made the mistake of sending a reply letter to Zack in the same day. Two hours later (the poor owl must have been going top-speed), a reply arrived and Sephiroth felt somewhat obligated to answer again. Zack was there with Cloud when he was taken from the Dursleys, and he had looked after Harry when Sephiroth was passed out. Zack always did everything he could to help Sephiroth and Harry understand the house as their home.

Even so, he was sending letters when Sephiroth would rather be in bed, sleeping soundly. He tried to make his letter as short and succinct as possible— _I really don't care, stop sending owls every two hours_. He was polite about it, of course. Eventually, the final straw came in the shape of an owl at midnight when Sephiroth was just falling sleep. He didn't bother reading the letter, scratched out a large " _I am sleeping_ " and told the owl not to come back until morning.

"What was that?" Fred had asked, bleary-eyed.

"Nothing," Sephiroth had seethed quietly, eyeing the letter on the table and decided he would read it later. Zack had a habit of being so painfully down-to-earth and nice, that he would probably end up feeling rotten and have to send an apology.

Now that it was morning, Sephiroth felt a prick of guilt for being so snappy with Zack. Trying to ignore the way George's parchment was steaming in random colors, he ripped open the envelope and let the letter fall out.

 _Yo, Seph_

 _Thought you were probably uncomfortable in a new environment. It's getting kind of late, but you seem to have a hard time falling asleep sometimes, so—_

Sephiroth didn't have a very hard time sleeping, unless he was being kept awake.

— _remember to drink warm milk (it'll help you grow taller, too, so drink a lot of it) and—_

Sephiroth flushed slightly and skimmed the letter down farther. Zack was a mother bear if there ever was one, but he couldn't seem to resist making jabs at Sephiroth's height.

 _Just remember that if anything bothers you or your brother, just send a letter and Cloud or I'll or maybe both of us, more the merrier and all, will pick you up! I think Aerith misses making you guys tea and having help in the garden._

There was also a small army of smiley faces inked in, and Sephiroth couldn't help a faint smile. He folded the letter up and stowed it in his pocket. He would write back, but only after eating breakfast, as the gnawing hunger in his stomach was impossible to ignore.

"Oi, wait a mo," said Fred, waving him over—Sephiroth didn't know how Fred could tell he was moving, it wasn't as though he made a lot of noise and the blindfold was still firmly in place—and flapping the pieces of parchment in the air. "We need a helper."

Sephiroth glanced at George, who was either glued to his chair or unwilling to get up. Or both.

"Why?" he asked warily. There was no such thing as too much caution around the Weasley twins. It wouldn't have been the first time they tried to string him into some kind of experiment.

"I just need a guinea pig," said George, entirely unabashed. "And you're the perfect height and weight."

Sephiroth was understandably startled.

"You know my height and weight?"

Fred, busy dipping the squares of parchment that George finished ripping into squares, nodded. He glanced up, a pointless gesture while wearing a blindfold, and his voice was lacking a lot of its usual humor as he said, "Yeah. You've lost a lot of weight, actually."

The door was only five feet away. Sephiroth could probably dive for it and be down the stairs in five seconds flat, before Fred and George could start asking the painful questions. They were very observant, scarily so at times, and they also had no qualms against asking the questions he didn't want to answer. And maybe sometimes that was a good thing, but at the moment Sephiroth really just wanted breakfast. He could smell the bacon cooking.

But George was still watching him expectantly, waving a square of parchment that was smeared with an unappetizing yellowish-green color in his direction. Despite his great reluctance, Sephiroth trudged a little closer, avoiding the minefield of sheets he had left on the ground (and reminded himself to pick them up before he left the room, seeing as it was rude to leave messes when he was a guest). He gave the parchment a paranoid glare.

"What does it do?" he asked. If it was going to turn him into a worm or anything like that, he was bailing.

"Nothing life-threatening," said George with a bright smile. The kind of smile that said, _Don't worry, you can trust me! I'm your good ole buddy George Weasley and I would never do anything to humiliate or injure you!_

Sephiroth didn't buy it for a second.

"But what does it _do_?"

"It won't turn you into anything creepy, nasty, or smaller than my forearm," said George confidently.

"Oh, well, in that case—"

Sephiroth grabbed the parchment between his forefinger and thumb—then stood there, waiting for something that he hoped wouldn't be disastrous to happen. When nothing happened, he threw George an inquiring look, wondering if the entire thing was just a ploy to get him to hold the parchment. For a second, he was afraid the sticky substance was some kind of super adhesive, but his fingers weren't stuck together yet, so that wasn't the case.

"You have to lay it on your wrist," said George patiently.

"You should have said so," mumbled Sephiroth, flushing lightly.

He noticed Fred (who had finally removed the blindfold) and George exchange a look, wordless and almost expressionless, as if they were reading each others' minds, but he didn't comment. They did that sometimes and it never ceased to be slightly unnerving.

Sephiroth pressed the sticky parchment against his wrist—and felt his heart _drop_.

Because in the space of half a second, his skin turned blue.

 _Blue_. As in, the color of the deep blue ocean, rich as a ripe blueberry in the autumn, complete with rippling waves and sea foam. It was as if Sephiroth was the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall—only for the _ocean_.

"Oh, _shi—_ "

There was a crash and George scrambled for another parchment, hurriedly grabbing Sephiroth's opposite wrist, as he stood there in numb shock, and pressed the parchment to his _oh-so-azure_ skin.

The result was puffy white clouds joining the ocean scene. Sephiroth had the sudden urge to break into tears when a cloud gently blew across his forearm. George and Fred had gone ashen, rushing around their room in a mad panic.

"Mum's gonna kill us—"

"—Was _sure_ would work!"

"—and then she's gonna string us upside down to die—"

"It was a success when we used it—"

"—and then hide the evidence in three-foot graves—"

"—Why in Merlin's name didn't it work for him?"

"Here, try this!" said George frantically, taking a small glass bottle full of a blue potion—Sephiroth recoiled instantly—and shoved it at him. "Drink it!"

Sephiroth pushed him away, taking a step back.

"Don't get that near me!"

"You've got to drink it, it'll reverse all . . . all _this_ ," said George, motioning to Sephiroth's entire body.

Sephiroth stared at him blankly, knowing that as soon as it computed his entire body was blue he would probably freak out. At the moment, it hadn't quite clicked.

"Here, just—" George jumped him—Sephiroth dove away—and George crashed into a bookshelf. The shelf full of books, bottles of strange and unidentifiable creature-shaped things, and solid-colored vials crashed to the floor. Bottles cracked up, blending in ways they definitely weren't supposed to, sending a thick kind of fog rolling across the floor.

"Tell me that's not toxic," said Sephiroth, half-begging.

"It's probably non-toxic?" said Fred, sounding as though he was half-questioning himself as well.

The good news was that the fog was not, in fact, poisonous. The bad news was that it was highly explosive and it didn't need a match to be set off—the resulting explosion far greater than the one responsible for waking Sephiroth.

He dove for the ground a half-second before the explosion went off, instinct telling him to _hit the dirt_. He didn't know much about his past life yet, but it was very obvious by now that he had experience with battle, and those senses were probably why he knew to take cover. Fred and George huddled close to each other and tried to make themselves as small as possible.

All that was left of the bookshelf was blown to pieces, books flying around the room and lodging into the walls—narrowly missing Fred, George, and Sephiroth by some kind of miracle—pieces of parchment and pages from the books drifting around the room as the smoke started to filter out through the open window.

When the last book that was lodged into the ceiling finally fell, George slowly crept to the window, pushing it open a little wider to air the room out faster. That was when they heard quick, pounding footsteps coming up the stairs—the twins, for the second time that morning, blanched in unison. They hastily started shoving what little notes and books were left unscathed under their beds as the person (Sephiroth would bet it was Mrs. Weasley) neared their room.

"Mum's gonna be so angry," croaked George.

Sephiroth glanced over the room, cringing slightly.

"Everything did kind of go . . . boom," he said awkwardly. The room was a mess. The bunk-beds were splattered with multiple potions, some of them steaming faintly.

"No," said Fred, dramatically falling to his knees right in front of Sephiroth, "you're still blue."

Sephiroth held up his arms—the color had faded slightly, the waves were gone and the clouds frozen, but he was still a pale, robin-egg blue. He now resembled a walking, human-shaped sky, complete with puffy clouds.

The door burst open and Mrs. Weasley charged inside—there were words already formed on her lips, dying the moment she took in the wreckage. Behind her, Harry was peering around the door with Ron, Genesis, and Angeal. Their eyes were drawn to Sephiroth almost in synchronicity, which was actually a little creepy, and he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Fred and George looked as though they were about to face the gallows.

Mrs. Weasley's mouth worked open and closed for a couple seconds, grasping for words and failing. She visibly startled when one last book dropped from the ceiling to the ground with a heavy _thud_. She was white-faced, before flushing with anger, and then going white again with fury—and Sephiroth had the sudden feeling his sensitive ears were about to suffer.

" _WHAT_ IS THIS?!" she finally managed to yell in a high shriek, arms flapping toward the destruction of Fred and George's room, to the floor (which was starting to melt in a flamboyant variation of rainbow colors), to Sephiroth, who was still blue. " _What—just what is this?!"_

"An experiment, Mum," said Fred, watching her with wide eyes.

"Why does Sephiroth look like a blueberry?" asked Genesis casually, as if this was all very normal to him.

Angeal rubbed his face, hiding his mouth behind his hand and somehow Sephiroth was certain he was holding back a laugh. Harry's brain, which seemed to have stuttered to a complete and total stop for a minute there, suddenly kicked to life. His mouth twitched dangerously—Sephiroth _knew_ what he was thinking and if he said it out loud, brother or not, there would be war.

" _WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU—"_

Mrs. Weasley was on a tirade and she didn't appear to be stopping anytime soon, divided between outrage and confusion and helplessness. Fred and George had stopped looking terrified and became more resigned, which only served to set Mrs. Weasley off even further.

"—IS DANGEROUS AND YOU _KNOW_ BETTER—"

Harry slanted a look up at Mrs. Weasley, then down at Sephiroth, and then anywhere _but_ Sephiroth because he was definitely trying not to laugh.

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes at Harry. _Don't even think about it_.

"— _DID YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES FOR A SECOND?"_

"He looks like a Smurf," said Genesis flatly.

Had Harry been walking, he would have tripped over his own feet. As it was, Sephiroth choked on his spit and launched to his feet, mindless of Mrs. Weasley's furious, shouted lecture. Never mind how Genesis could have known anything about the Smurfs, which was a Muggle and American cartoon, never mind how the rainbow-colored acidic substance was starting to let out sounds that faintly resembled giggling. He was going to strangle Genesis, and no one could stop him.

Genesis seemed to pick up on the murderous intent emanating from Sephiroth and backed away, running smack into Angeal's chest—and then he spun around to quickly make his strategic retreat. Retreat was synonymous with shoving Angeal out of the way, plowing over little Ginny Weasley, and diving straight over the railing of the top floor. He landed at the bottom of the stairs with the grace of a cat and made a mad dash for the door.

And that was how a blue-skinned Sephiroth was seen chasing Genesis in broad daylight.

Percy, who was out in the garden taking care of squat, vaguely humanoid creatures that looked as though they were carved from potatoes, nearly dropped one of the creatures on his foot. He narrowly saved the tip of his finger from being bitten off, tossing the ornery being as far over the garden fence as he could, into the tall grass.

Sephiroth darted through the grass after Genesis, occasionally splashing through shallow puddles of water. He nearly tripped on a couple roots protruding from the ground, but managed to catch himself and keep running. They didn't stop until they were about a mile away from from the Burrow, surrounded by tall golden grasses. Neither of them were winded, and Genesis was grinning broadly, as if being chased by Sephiroth was one of the most entertaining things he could think up. Sephiroth only tossed a rock at him, which bounced harmlessly off his head, and then flopped onto the ground.

During the chase, Sephiroth's skin had paled into the faintest blue color, giving him a slightly sickly look, but it was rapidly fading. Words couldn't express how relieved he felt toward the short lifetime of the substance George smeared on those parchment squares. If he had to stay the color of the ocean for a whole day, or (he shuddered to think) even longer, it would be horrifying. His hair and eyes were enough, but he couldn't begin to imagine how awful it might be, going to Hogwarts looking like a blueberry-human hybrid.

Angeal caught up with them a moment later, raising his eyebrows when he found them sitting around the grasses as if they hadn't been about to kill each other only a few seconds ago. He joined them sitting on the ground, kicking his legs out in front of himself.

"How did they convince you to go along with their experiment?" asked Angeal, curious. "Most of us know better. Ginny gets strung along sometimes, but she's getting sharp enough to realize when they're trying to prank her."

"They said it wouldn't turn me into anything nasty, creepy, or smaller than their forearm," said Sephiroth, embarrassed. "I guess they didn't, but I don't like being blue."

Genesis snorted.

"You really did look like a Smurf," he said.

"Couldn't you have compared him to something a little nobler?" said Angeal. "Like one of the Hindu gods? Didn't they have blue skin?"

"You want to compare Sephiroth to the Hindu god of compassion and beauty?" said Genesis, snickering.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

Sephiroth ignored the flare of irritation he felt in favor of asking, "How do you even know about Smurfs?"

"Dad likes Muggles," said Genesis with a half-shrug. "He brought back a plushy from work once—although I think only the girl Smurfs have hair."

Sephiroth searched for another rock to throw at his head.

"You've lost weight," said Angeal, before Sephiroth could find a suitable projectile. His hand froze halfway to a rock. "I guess those Muggles were really as bad as we thought they were."

Under any other circumstances, Sephiroth might have tried to come up with an excuse, a distraction, or something to lessen the severity of Genesis and Angeal's dislike toward the Dursleys. In the letters, it was easy to try and make the Dursleys' treatment of himself and Harry seem a little less terrible. Face to face with them, he really couldn't—because he remembered feeling like he was going to die.

Weakened and starving, locked in the dark like an animal they were ashamed to admit existed. Sephiroth had admitted he was abnormal and strange in an attempt to beg for more food and a part of him broke that day—so at this point, Sephiroth really didn't care what Genesis and Angeal thought of the Dursleys. Mostly because they were right.

Instead of replying, he adverted his eyes, focusing on the tall grasses and sky that was still gray with the early morning.

"Well, we've still got a week of summer break," said Angeal in a valiant attempt at lightening the mood. He looked at Genesis—there was a whole conversation there that Sephiroth couldn't read—and suspicion reared inside of him. "And we've all finished our homework."

"Good riddance," said Genesis sourly. "Why would they give us work over the _holidays_? We're supposed to be relaxing and doing nothing."

"It wasn't so bad," said Sephiroth before he could stop himself. When they threw him incredulous stares, he scowled. "What? I was bored!"

"Must've been some boredom," said Angeal, sounding quietly impressed.

"But more on point—" Genesis cut himself off as he lunged at Sephiroth without a moment of warning, fist drawn back and ready to punch.

Later, Sephiroth would deny every claim that he squawked. He scrambled backward, tripping over himself in the process, and almost tumbled back into the tall grass. Genesis's fist hit the earth that Sephiroth had sat on only a heartbeat before, cracks forming around the small impact crater. Sephiroth remembered the same thing happening when Genesis punched the Mountain Troll that wandered into the girls' bathroom—only, at the time, he assumed the troll's weight combined with Genesis's strength caused it. As it turned out, it was all Genesis. _Since when was he so strong?_

Sephiroth jumped away, finally gaining control of his movements, a startled question halfway formed on his lips—then Angeal's leg almost swiped Sephiroth's feet out from under him. Sephiroth threw them both a glare and leaped back to put distance between himself and them.

"What are you _doing?!_ "

"We planned on having a spar if you ever turned up," said Genesis, grinning. "A three-way, just—wait not a three-way. I mean, the three of us, but not—"

Angeal let out a tortured groan, digging his palms into his eyes.

" _Why does your mind always have to do there?!_ " he yelled.

"Look, I'm sorry," said Genesis, flushing lightly. "It was just a bad choice of words!"

"The wording was _perfectly fine,_ until you made it like—like _that_!"

Sephiroth coughed politely, waving to get their attention.

"What are you talking about?"

" _Nothing_!" they shouted as one.

Sephiroth tried not to feel too insulted that they wouldn't bother explaining.

It more or less dissolved into utter chaos. Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis were all inherently talented at fighting, as if the knowledge and techniques were downloaded into their brains at birth. Of course, they knew that it had everything to do with their past lives. Battling powerful opponents must have been a commonality back then, because the more they pushed each other, the better and sharper they seemed to react in the spar.

Sephiroth could almost mindlessly dodge Genesis's snappy punches and kicks, avoid Angeal's heavier punches that would probably _hurt_ if he landed them, and generally hold them both off without too much difficulty. Even though Genesis said they would all be sparring each other, it seemed to have turned into Genesis and Angeal against Sephiroth.

That why he ended up throwing himself into a backwards flip, arching over Genesis's kick and extending his heel to clip Angeal's chin—and neatly twisting round to kick Genesis solidly in the chest.

He would have felt bad for the hits, had they not started the spar in the first place.

However, there was a very fine line between muscle memory (reincarnation memory, or whatever it was called) and actually understanding their own abilities. Sephiroth found if he focused too much on what he was doing while he fought, he would mess up—badly. Case it point, when he tripped over his own feet and went tumbling headlong into the swampy area just outside the grass.

He resurfaced, dripping wet and thoroughly mortified, Genesis seemingly trying to kill himself laughing.

"You might want to get out of there," said Angeal, frowning. "There's leeches."

Sephiroth practically flew out of the water, and Genesis doubled over again, howling with laughter. Sephiroth was too busy making sure he didn't have leeches stuck to his arms to focus on rightfully punching Genesis into unconsciousness.

"Y-you're such a-a girl," gasped Genesis between laughs. "I think you broke speed records!"

Angeal eyed Genesis flatly as he toppled over to the ground, hugging his stomach.

"Well, he's out of commission."

Sephiroth scowled.

"It wasn't _that_ funny," he mumbled.

He threw Angeal a look of pure outrage when he snorted. Angeal brushed a hand over his mouth speedily, coughing slightly.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding very apologetic at all.

"D-Do you need help wringing out your hair?" asked Genesis, shoulders shaking slightly.

Sephiroth launched himself at Genesis, who quickly moved out of the way.

Their sparring session probably would have picked up right where it left off, but they heard someone trudging over through the grasses in their direction. Genesis tried, in vain, to rub out the muddy footprint on the front of his white shirt. Sephiroth was still soaked and seeing how it was humid, he was unlikely to dry off until he changed clothes. Angeal had somehow managed to keep himself fairly clean and orderly.

"You smeared your muddy boot on my shirt," hissed Genesis at Sephiroth, scowling.

"You're the one who attacked me first," Sephiroth snapped back at him.

They spent the short period of time before the approaching person arrived scuffling, pushing and prodding at each other. Genesis kept trying to smear a handful of mud on Sephiroth in revenge for the boot-print on his shirt—Angeal was trying to make them both look as they _didn't_ just technically get in a fight—Sephiroth was trying to bat them both off of him at once.

It was no wonder they ended up falling into a pile of limbs as Harry and Ron pushed through the grasses. Harry blinked when he saw them, rubbed his glasses, and then raised his eyebrows.

"Don't say a word," snapped Genesis, detangling himself from Sephiroth's hair.

"I wasn't going to," said Harry, very diplomatically.

Ron had no such reservations.

"What the bloody hell were you doing?" he asked, motioning toward them vaguely. "Mum's gonna have a fit."

"Maybe she won't notice," said Genesis, although he didn't look very hopeful.

Ron snorted.

"Fat chance. She's got eyes in the back of her head."

Harry peeled a long strand of dead grass from Sephiroth's shoulder, divided between laughing and bemusement. He eventually settled on asking, "How'd you get wet?"

Sephiroth adverted his eyes in embarrassment.

"I feel in," he replied reluctantly, nodding at the swamp.

They walked back to the Burrow with all the order of a tropical storm. Ron and Genesis bickered the entire way, while Angeal ignored them in the way most brothers did to their siblings—as Sephiroth was starting to realize. He and Harry were somewhat in the minority when it came to how well they got along, all the time. (But it wasn't as though he ever wanted to fight and complain over his brother, who had been the only other human being—before going to Hogwarts—to look at him and actually _see_ a person, not some defective creature.)

There wasn't a shred of neatness or order to be found in the Weasleys at all, really—from their house, to the family themselves, opposite of the Dursleys in every way imaginable. Sephiroth enjoyed the chaotic kind of freedom they all possessed, from Ron's tales of food fights that ended with a very furious Mrs. Weasley, or the odd enchanted Muggle device that went haywire, courtesy of Mr. Weasley.

Pots and pans would clang and clatter in the kitchen, enchanted to wash themselves. Sephiroth was going to have to learn that enchantment, because never washing dishes again sounded like a heaven-sent miracle. Zack, Cloud, and Aerith would probably appreciate it, too. No one particularly enjoyed washing dishes.

Sephiroth hadn't even stepped into the house before he smelled the food wafting from inside the kitchen. His stomach gave a pained rumble and he propelled himself and Harry along a little faster. After Fred and George's backfired experiment and the impromptu spar with Genesis and Angeal, Sephiroth was ravenous.

"What's the rush?" said Ron. "Mum's still annoyed at Fred and George for their room. And turning you blue."

"I'm _hungry_ ," said Sephiroth, as if that answered everything, and it sort of did.

Breakfast was a large affair of pancakes, bacon, and toast—and then more bacon, because there was simply no such thing as too much bacon—and mugs of milk and orange juice, depending on which they preferred. Sephiroth figured he ate about a whole pig-worth of bacon just by himself, and Genesis and Angeal wolfed it down as well.

Fred and George had their heads close together, whispering as they shoveled their faces (Mrs. Weasley reminded them multiple times to chew with their mouths closed). Unlike the rest of the Weasleys and Sephiroth and Harry, Percy ate quietly and reservedly, a napkin tucked at his lap. Sephiroth watched him for awhile to see if he would drop a bit of food, or make even the slightest mess, but nope—Percy was impeccably tidy.

There was something missing, though. It took Sephiroth a couple minutes and by the time he understood, breakfast was nearly done and Mrs. Weasley was wrangling Fred and George into finishing de-gnoming the garden instead of Percy as a punishment for their experiment earlier than morning.

He had gotten used to breakfast with Zack, Cloud, and Aerith in the short while he was at their house. Their breakfasts weren't very fancy, as none of them were star cooks, but they had a quiet charm that made up for it. Aerith and her garden, always smelling of sweet flowers, urging Sephiroth and Harry to eat their fill and regain their strength. Zack would always try to crack jokes, most of which were incredibly lame, but Sephiroth laughed anyway. And Cloud, a steady presence who always seemed to know exactly when to put in a word or give Sephiroth a nod, some sort of encouragement.

Sephiroth missed them, enough to surprise himself. He didn't know them well, but—

He did know them. He was sure of it.

"Are you feeling well, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley, buttering three slices of toast and piling them on his plate. She gave him a warm smile. "Eat up, there's plenty!"

Sephiroth and Harry chose to help Fred and George de-gnome the garden, as neither of them had ever done anything like it. Sephiroth immediately found himself comparing the Weasleys' garden to Aerith's, noticing several flowers and plants of the magical variety, and knew Aerith would probably love to add them to her green sanctuary. He recognized a couple of them from Herbology, but couldn't quite recall any of their names, and decided he would ask Professor Sprout when he returned to Hogwarts. Or Neville, seeing as he enjoyed Herbology the most out of all his classes.

There was a slight overpopulation of frogs in the garden pond, but Ron stated they were good for potions. Apparently they would give one a boost of energy, like the less-tasty and potion-variant of coffee. Sephiroth would rather have coffee.

"Just take one like this," said Fred, snatching up a wriggling gnome and shaking it repeatedly, until it couldn't tell up from down, "and then toss it!"

He hurled the gnome over the hedge, squinting his eyes to see how far it flew before landing.

"Forty feet at least," said Fred.

Sephiroth and Harry were hesitant to follow suit, right up until one of the gnomes chomped down hard on Harry's hand. Sephiroth narrowly avoided a similar fate, giving the gnome a hard shake, and then throwing it with every bit of his strength—it disappeared into the forest line.

Fred, George, and Ron stared, nonplussed.

Of course, it turned into a competition of who could throw the gnome the farthest between Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal, while Fred and George placed bets. Except no one had any real money on hand, so Fred, George, and Ron bet who would do whose chores.

They tarried aimlessly though most of the day, Sephiroth squirming his way out of Fred and George's attempts to hire him for other experiments. He almost succeeded, but they introduced him to a unique type of written magic they called runes, and Sephiroth spent the better part of the day puzzling over them with the twins. It was fun, even if they got _vanish_ mixed up with _clean_ , and accidentally obliterated several pieces of furniture. Runes were very unwieldy, requiring high levels of concentration and plenty of time to write out the characters perfectly, lest they malfunction. However, with preparation and time—everything a rune commanded was absolute.

At night, Angeal pulled out a telescope from under his bed and led them outside.

There was a sloping hill behind the Burrow, which he set up the telescope on and pointed out the different constellations. Sephiroth remembered his astronomy class, but he hadn't realized Angeal enjoyed it so much. He could name all the moons around Jupiter (Sephiroth zoned out for awhile and when he came back, Angeal was still naming them) and the craters on the moon, which was a feat in Sephiroth's opinion.

The Weasleys lived a fair distance from civilization, so there was very little light pollution. The stars were bright and far more plentiful than Sephiroth had ever seen, a wide canvas of glittering and winking lights sprawled over the velvety sky. Angeal, bright-eyed and filled with a kind of passion that almost surprised Sephiroth, rambled about the stars—about _Cassiopeia_ , the Greek princess who was stubborn and prideful— _Sirius_ , the dog constellation.

"It would be nice to fly up there, right?" said Angeal, almost breathlessly.

Sephiroth, who had been watching him as he talked, turned his eyes back up to the sky. It was still clear, a fresh and crisp night. He didn't particularly like flying, on brooms at least, but he understood what Angeal was saying. The thought of flying like that, a strange sort of freedom that was so obviously out of reach and daunting—he still wasn't entirely sure if he wanted it.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. He caught Genesis staring at him, an odd expression on his face. "What?"

Genesis shook his head, eyes returning to the stars.

"Nothing."

Companionable silence feel over them for awhile—Angeal occasionally fiddling with the telescope and turning it this way and that to get a good view of a different constellation—before Ron suddenly spoke.

"Hey, d'you suppose the car could get enchanted to fly all the way up there?" At their odd looks, he added defensively, "Well, it can be enchanted to fly, so why couldn't it reach the moon or something?"

"The vacuum of space is just a bit different from flying through some clouds," said Genesis pointedly. "Although I guess if the car was enchanted to handle zero gravity and had a constant flow of air for us to breathe, then it would be possible. Don't forget we'd have to be able to move, since there's no traction in space, and the atmosphere on the moon is _very_ inhospitable."

Sephiroth was pretty sure Genesis was channeling Hermione, sounded as much like he swallowed a book as he did.

"I didn't mean fly up into _space_ ," sighed Angeal. There was a beat of silence. "That would be cool, though."

"You'd freeze to death in a matter of seconds," said Harry. When he noticed everyone staring at him, he shrugged. "What? I read. And they teach this in Muggle schools."

Eventually they were called inside by Mrs. Weasley, who gave them each a mug of hot chocolate. They sat around the hearth for awhile longer, talking back and forth, before they were sent up to bed. Fred and George stayed up for a few hours after everyone went to sleep, whispering in hushed tones over a piece of old parchment, while Sephiroth tried to weave his hair into a more manageable braid.

With any luck, he wouldn't trip over it or have to deal with nightmare-inducing tangles in the morning. Fred and George didn't tease him, as Sephiroth thought they might, instead tossing him a ribbon to tie his hair off with and bidding him goodnight.

It had been an incredibly long day, and not even the moaning of the ghoul above Ron's room was enough to keep Sephiroth from immediately falling asleep.

* * *

 **A/N: Yay for mindless fluff! I love fluff. I really just wanted to make a chapter where Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal's friendship kind of take the forefront, and this happened. Nothing like bonding over a sparring match. (Not really, getting kicked in the chest hurts like hell). And am I the only one who thinks Sephiroth would still look good with blue skin...? XD (RIP normalcy, but then again I listened to Friends by Aura Dione for like ten hours straight writing this, so...)**

 **Guest: The Christmas holidays are still up in the air. How things play out in Hogwarts will decide whether or not they return to Zack, Cloud, and Aerith for Christmas. In other words it's spoilers. Kind of. I think. That doesn't help much, does it? XD**

 **EdelweisSagaZ: YASSS you can make all the fanart you want! That would be so freaking amazing! I love art in general and seeing fanart would just be so awesome. *Attempting not to lose my shit and failing* :D**

 **Thank you for all the follows, favorites, and reviews! It's awesome hearing from you guys! :D**

 **Till next week~**


	6. Chapter 6

06

Getting the Weasley family up and going before eight o'clock in the morning was something like trying to herd wild cats. It just didn't happen.

On the day they left for King's Cross Station, Mrs. Weasley went from door to door, gently trying to wake them in the early hours of dawn, so they would have plenty of time to ready themselves for the rest of the day. When that didn't work, she started pulling the sheets off her own children and smilingly told Sephiroth that he could sleep a little longer— _it's okay, dear, really_. Except that was simply beyond awkward, so Sephiroth roused with the rest of the Weasley, trudging downstairs and mirroring the zombified expressions they wore.

Twice Ron almost fell asleep in his porridge, shaken awake by a helpful Percy, who seemed to be the only chipper person in the Burrow at the moment. Sephiroth, Harry, and Fred and George eyed him sourly, the early bird of the family. Since living with them, Sephrioth had learned that Percy was something of the odd one out, painfully business-like even with his own family, and a borderline recluse. Percy had tried to corner Sephiroth on three separate occasions, talking about some legislation toward the rights of magical creatures, and Sephiroth guessed he wanted to get into the law enforcement or something of the likes. He had been about to implement an experiment with chewing gum and flutterby flare powder with the twins, so his mind wasn't on the conversation.

"He's been like that, lately," said Ron, frowning slightly. "Dunno why, but it's unusual."

"Bloody annoying, you mean," grumbled George.

"He'll be calling us all Mr. Weasley soon enough," said Fred.

Sephiroth and Harry hunted down their things, which had gotten scattered around the house during their stay, and packed up their trunks. It wasn't until Sephiroth found a couple articles of his own clothing in the twins' wardrobe that he realize how at-home he had made himself.

It was as though all their school items decided to go on strike, Mrs. Weasley storming around and searching in cupboards, under tables and in the sofas for the missing odds and ends. They eventually found the inkwells and quills on a shelf carrying parchment—exactly where they were supposed to be—except nobody ever put things back where they belonged, so Mrs. Weasley hadn't even thought to look there. She was in a foul mood for the rest of the morning, while Percy seemed to be trying to make himself scarce.

"I bet he was the one who put them there," said Genesis with a grin.

"Just because people put things _away_ ," sighed Angeal. "The house shouldn't be in an uproar over that."

"Where have you been living for the past eleven years?" asked Genesis rhetorically. "I don't even remember the last time someone put the quills there."

Yet another reminder of how different the Weasleys were from the Dursleys. Put something away in a neat and orderly fashion, and everything dissolved into chaos.

Eventually they lugged their trunks over to the old Ford Angela that Genesis, along with Ron, Angeal, and the twins, had reportedly driven to Surrey in search of Sephiroth and Harry. Mr. Weasley loaded their luggage into the car trunk, which Sephiroth knew for a fact was _far_ larger than a normal one. When he threw Mr. Weasley a confused look, he shushed Sephiroth and told him not to tell Mrs. Weasley—she didn't approve of illegal enchantments on Muggle contraptions, including cars.

Sephiroth carried his Shinra in his lap, stroking the cat's fur as Mr. Weasley pulled out of the driveway.

Not fifteen seconds later, they were stopping because George had forgotten something. He rushed out to retrieve it, and then they left again—and Sephiroth realized he had forgotten his Gilderoy Lockhart books under Fred's bed. He had hidden them there, out of sight and out of mind, because Gilderoy Lockhart was a nightmare in human form, but unfortunately he needed them for class. After he got his books—and Fred went back for his broom, and Ginny for her diary, and Sephiroth again for _Travels with Trolls_ , which had shoved particularly far back due to Gilderoy's face winking at him—they _finally_ managed to leave the Burrow for good.

"Mum—"

" _No!_ " Mrs. Weasley snapped. "If you left something, I'll mail it to you tomorrow. We are _not_ turning this car around."

"Actually I was going to remind you to put on your seat belt," said Percy, almost apologetically.

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley, clicking her seat belt on. "Sorry, dear."

By the time they reached King's Cross, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were all but sweating bullets, and Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch over and over. He had tried to convince Mrs. Weasley to allow him to use the flying feature he had enchanted into the vehicle, but she wouldn't have it. They were forced to dart through the station when they arrived, hauling their trolleys so quickly that Sephiroth hoped no one fell in the way—barring himself, Genesis, and Angeal, they wouldn't have been able to stop in time.

Of course, because something always went wrong when there was a hurry involved, George accidentally smacked into a woman carrying a large box full of files, all of which went scattering around the station. He apologized profusely, while the woman glared and muttered curses as she picked up the files—it put them behind another couple minutes, and Sephiroth was starting to get worried they'd miss the train.

Percy went through the barrier first—Sephiroth worriedly noted they had only about five minutes left until the train pulled out of the station—Fred and George ran through together. Then Mrs. Weasley took Ginny, Mr. Weasley following close behind her.

Sephiroth and Harry wasted no time charging at the barrier—Sephiroth remembered the first time he went through the barrier, he had watched the Weasleys and despite seeing each of them disappear instead of crash, he had had to work up the courage to run directly at a wall, and not come to an automatic stop, for a good five minutes—pushing forward as fast as they could, and Sephiroth reached the barrier first—

The trolley came to a jarring halt and Sephiroth saw stars, suddenly finding himself almost folded in half over his trolley, crushed between the barrier and Harry's trolley. He blinked, thoroughly disoriented, and wondered when Angeal and Genesis had made it over there—books lay over the ground, their trunks having snapped open in the impact. Harry looked slightly dazed, but unhurt, telling the guard yelling them that it had been an accident.

"What just happened?" asked Sephiroth—he made a grab at Shinra as the cat attempted to bolt.

Genesis poked the barrier—when his finger actually met bricks, he kicked it. The bricks caved in and crumbled around his foot, but the barrier remained solid.

"The gateway's broken or something," said Ron, slapping his hand against it. The Muggles were starting to look at them oddly, so he stopped and added in a low voice, "The train's gonna leave any second."

"Maybe we can break through," said Genesis wildly.

"It's a _magical_ barrier, you can't break through!" Angeal protested.

"We're going to miss the train!"

"But breaking the barrier will solve nothing! The police will be called on us!"

"What if Mum and Dad can't get back through to us?" said Ron, looking stressed as he glanced around the station, as if hoping a solution would pop out of nowhere. Then his eyes widened.

"What?" said Genesis. "What is it?"

" _The car!_ " Ron gasped.

Angeal's face dropped.

"No."

"Car?" said Sephiroth.

"It can _fly_ ," said Genesis, grinning.

"You've said that a couple times," Sephiroth pointed out.

"We can fly the car to Hogwarts!" said Ron, beaming as though the world was saved.

Harry frowned.

"But I thought—"

"We're stuck, right?" said Ron excitedly. "And we've got to get to school, haven't we?"

Sephiroth had a feeling Ron only wanted to drive the enchanted flying car. Going off Genesis's bright-eyed look, he was the same. Angeal was the only one who seemed to have any reservations—because Harry was desperate enough to go through with the plan—and Sephiroth didn't blame him. The thought of flying hundreds of feet off the ground in an enchanted car that could malfunction at any moment wasn't a pleasant one.

Brooms were bad enough, but he only had to worry about himself on a broom. In the car, it was himself _and_ Harry—and Genesis, Angeal, and Ron. Genesis and Angeal could probably take care of themselves and Ron, but Sephiroth didn't want to risk Harry's life in an enchanted car.

"You guys—" Angeal huffed when he was cut off by Ron rambling something about legalities and underage magic, before starting again. "Can't we just send an owl?"

"Not a chance," said Genesis. "The car's the only way to go."

"Why did I have a feeling you'd say that?" he sighed.

Sephiroth was greatly alarmed by the eager expression that was rapidly taking place of Harry's hesitation. His eyes had the pre-Quidditch match sort of gleam that always made Sephiroth want to tie him down somewhere safe and padded. Of course, Genesis and Ron were hardly good influences, considering the former had been the one to convince Sephiroth to ride a broom before he even attended flight lessons—and Ron was the one who suggested the idea in the first place.

They ended up standing around the car, Genesis making a beeline for the driver's side door. Angeal tripped him up long enough for Ron to dash around and claim the front seat.

"I wanted to drive," huffed Genesis as he climbed into the passenger's side.

"And I want to be _alive_ when we reach Hogwarts," sniped Ron.

Sephiroth looked at the car, and then glanced back at the station.

"You know, maybe Genesis is right. We could probably break through—"

"Oh, come on," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "It'll be fun."

" _Fun_ ," said Sephiroth, sitting gingerly in the back seat and almost flinching when Angeal slammed the door shut after he followed them in. "Fun is not the word I think of when it involves flying cars."

Angeal laughed, reaching over to flick Sephiroth squarely on the forehead.

"You've never thought of flying as fun."

Sephiroth scowled at him, rubbing his forehead. If he didn't know better, he would have though Angeal was trying to bruise him.

"Lighten up," said Angeal. "You might actually enjoy flying in the car. It _is_ pretty liberating."

Sephiroth stared out the window as Ron started the engine, hitting the Invisibility Booster. Invisible as in _everything disappeared_. Sephiroth was horrified for a moment when he looked around and realized he couldn't see Harry—or his own body, for that matter. At some point, Angeal stepped on his foot, and Sephiroth accidentally swatted him across the face. Angeal tried to push him back, but somehow ended up pulling Genesis's hair. That didn't turn out well for either of them.

The ground quickly fell out from under them as they raised up—up, and even farther, into the sky. It felt as though Sephiroth was just a floating consciousness, surrounded by the irritated voices of Angeal and Genesis, as Harry attempted to placate them both (which was a little backwards compared to the usual). The vehicles on the ground looked like little matchbox cars, the earth a writhing mess of roads and buildings.

They didn't even make it five minutes before the car started malfunctioning, the invisibility booster switching off with a loud _pop_ and leaving them completely visible to the Muggles below. Sephiroth was both horrified and slightly relieved, because he was happy to be able to see his own limbs again. Ron quickly directed the car up into the clouds, where they would be hidden from sight. Unfortunately, that went both ways. Muggles couldn't see them, but none of them could find Hogwarts Express through the heavy clouds.

"Why isn't it _working_?" snapped Genesis, stabbing at the Invisibility Booster with his finger several times. "It worked just fine last time we flew the car—"

"Maybe ramming into that car ruined it," said Ron, throwing Genesis a sour look.

"But it was working on the way back!" Genesis protested, too frustrated at the car to give a scathing retort. "Why would it stop working _now_ of all times?!"

Sephiroth thought they should have been asking: _Why wouldn't it?_

It wasn't as though they were known for their good luck. On the contrary, as Genesis had pointed out quite a few times, their luck was spectacularly rotten. Sephiroth wouldn't be surprised in the least to find out there was some kind of higher power thinking to themselves, " _Now how can I make their lives miserable today?_ " and causing everything to be as inconvenient as possible.

"I'll fly lower," said Ron, half to himself, half to the rest of them. He eased the car below the clouds and they pressed themselves against the windows to find the train.

"There it is!" called Harry. "Right ahead—there!"

Sephiroth twisted around Angeal to get a better view, his face flush against the glass. Hogwarts Express looked like a small, winding slip of crimson from so far up. He tried not to imagine how horrible it would be if the car suddenly stopped working altogether, dropping from several hundred feet in the air. His body was sturdier than most, but he wasn't sure if he would turn out unscathed, and Harry and Ron were normal human beings.

Briefly, Cloud, Zack, and Aerith's reaction to their risky venture crossed his mind, and Sephiroth hastily shoved the thought away. It was a little late to be wondering what they would think. Even if Aerith probably already knew, because sometimes she seemed omnipresent, and that Zack would be terrified—and Cloud would look quietly disappointed, which was just _awful_ to imagine.

"We're doomed," said Sephiroth in an undertone.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," said Angeal, but he was twitching slightly. He undoubtedly recognized how his statement rang close to the famous last words.

Ron exhaled heavily, pressing the accelerator and taking them back up into the clouds.

They kept ascending, until they were above the clouds and truly higher in the atmosphere than Sephiroth _ever_ wanted to go. Even so, there was a fantastical quality to being there, the sunlight seeming to skip over puffy white clouds in patches of fractured gold. The sky turned a deep and rich blue, almost indigo, and the temperature in the car increased. At some point, Harry and Genesis pulled out snacks and Sephiroth started relaxing.

"All we've got to worry about now are airplanes," said Ron casually.

Sephiroth choked on his toffee.

Harry, Ron, and Genesis broke into gales of laughter, soon joined by Angeal. Sephiroth, eyes watery from choking, gave into laughter with them—as soon as he stopped feeling as though he was going to suffocate. There really was something peaceful about being so high above the clouds.

Two hours into their trip, they started getting very, very bored. Looking at the random shapes in the clouds only distracted them for so long (about five minutes, really) and the snacks weren't infinite. On top of that, whoever packed snacks had forgotten water, so they were all incredibly thirsty. At some point, Genesis started reading _Loveless_ out loud, and that spiraled into a complete session of _Loveless_ theory and a game of _Guess What Act._ Sephiroth was fairly sure Genesis was trying to forcibly pummel the poem into their brains.

"Hey, are the wheels spinning?" asked Harry, interrupting Genesis mid-stanza.

Sephiroth pushed around Angeal to try and get a look out of the windows.

"I think they are," he said. "I wonder why the wheels spin while we're off the ground."

"I guess it's like humans swinging their arms when they walk?" suggested Harry.

"We do that for balance," Angeal explained.

"So why are the wheels spinning?" asked Sephiroth.

"Why does it even matter?" said Genesis.

"I don't know, why does a bunch of poetry thrown together for a romantic tragedy—because that clearly hasn't been done before—matter so much?" said Sephiroth waspishly.

" _Excuse me?!_ "

Angeal sighed.

"Sephiroth, I shouldn't have to tell you to stop needling him," he said.

"I get it, the waters are rippling," said Sephiroth irritably. "What I don't get is how that ties in with Gilderoy Lockhart being our DADA professor and the moral degrading of the world!"

"Big words," sneered Genesis.

"I'm just repeating what you said!"

"Should have figured you didn't know what they meant."

Sephiroth lunged to tackle him over the seat—Angeal, predictably, grabbed the back of his shirt to stop him.

" _Would the lot of you shut up and behave!"_ yelled Ron. His face was flushed from the heat, sweat beading on his forehead. "I am _driving!"_

He sounded so much like an infuriated Mrs. Weasley that it actually brought Genesis and Angeal to a halt, the two of them looking more than a little disturbed. They had been driving for so long by then, Sephiroth wasn't all that shocked Ron had finally snapped. The sun was starting to dip below the clouds, the light at just the right angle so that no matter what they did, short of covering their eyes entirely, it was blaring in their face. Ron was white-knuckling the steering-wheel, dipping under the clouds more frequently than before to look for Hogwarts.

Sephiroth had long since gotten over his disparagement of the enchanted flying car in favor of trying to ignore his thirst and hunger. He wished they had packed a couple bottles of water or something, anything to balance out all the dry snack foods they had ingested. Shinra was getting restless, too—while Hedwig was letting out periodic screeches and pecking at Harry's fingers. Neither of them appreciated being cooped up in a car for hours on end.

"We're getting close, right?" muttered Genesis, his forehead plastered to the dashboard in front of him. He hadn't moved from that position in nearly five minutes and Sephiroth was starting to get worried. "Come on. It's got to be close. We've been driving for hours."

"I'll check the train again," said Ron, his voice rusty from dehydration.

"Maybe we could just follow the train tracks?" said Genesis, turning his head to look at Ron. "We can just arrive early."

"There's forks in the tracks," said Ron, sounding apologetic. "We have to keep pace with the train."

Sephiroth was lounging against Harry's shoulder, his legs kicked up on the seat in front of Angeal, head tilted back to look at the roof of the car.

"This is boring," he repeated for the sixth time in ten minutes.

Angeal picked a glossy hardback book, wrinkling his nose when he saw the title.

"There's a Lockhart book here," he said. "You want it?"

Sephiroth eyed the book like it was a particularly nasty lump of mold.

"I don't think I'll ever be _that_ bored."

Angeal shrugged, tossing the book back down where he found it.

"What's that noise?" said Genesis suddenly, peeling his head off the dashboard, leaving a red mark on his forehead.

There was a high keening sound, like a wounded animal, coming from the engine of the car. Sephiroth immediately straightened, hugging Shinra a little tighter. The cat repaid his worry with claws to his forearms, leaving burning scratches.

"Is it supposed to sound like that?" asked Sephiroth.

"It's probably just tired," said Ron. His statement was definitely meant to comfort himself as much as the other passengers. "It's never been this far before . . ."

Sephiroth glanced over through the windows at the ground so far below, and while normally heights didn't bother him so much—it was more instability of the thing carrying him so high up that concerned him—he felt his palms break out into a sweat. They had to be thousands of feet off the ground and if they dropped, the car would be little more than a mess of torn metal. He had no idea if they would survive.

The engine strained more and more as they traveled farther, the sky growing darker and the earth seeming even farther away when it was cast in shadows. Speckles of lights started to flicker on as night fell, while stars became visible against the dark indigo sky.

When the windshield wipers stopped working, stuttering to a halt mid-swipe, they knew there was no more ignoring the reality of their situation. The car wasn't working right and they were thousands of feet up in the air, unsure if they could land in time to prevent themselves from becoming a grease spot in a shallow crater. Sephiroth was sure he could survive high falls, but he had never tested exactly how far—it wasn't as though he could make a sport of jumping off tall buildings without a parachute.

"Maybe we can spontaneously evolve into avian creatures," said Harry, clutching the arm rests of his seat.

"Take us down," said Angeal, deadly serious. "I don't like how the engine sounds. We shouldn't risk it."

Ron nodded quickly, descending under the clouds again, this time for good.

A few minutes later found Ron encouraging the car to continue working, urging it to keep running and that they were almost there, just a little farther and they would be at Hogwarts. Sephiroth would have been far more concerned for Ron's sanity if he hadn't been a heartbeat from doing the same thing. With every bump and jostle of turbulence, they steadily got tenser. Harry was clinging to the sides of the vehicle, white-faced and wide-eyed, and Sephiroth wasn't much better. The car dropped couple feet and Sephiroth felt his heart palpitate.

"There it is!" yelled Genesis, jumping out of his seat and almost face-planting onto the dashboard when the car jerked again. He caught himself, pointing at something that wasn't visible to them in the darkness. "Hogwarts is straight ahead of us!"

Sephiroth detached himself from the seat—he finally noticed his fingers had dug holes into the leather—and peered out the front windshield. Hogwarts was faintly outlined by the rapidly darkening sky behind it, candles burning warmly in almost every window. Relief flooded him, only to be swiftly taken away by the car's shaking, quickly losing altitude.

He realized with sudden horror that they were flying directly over the lake, a mass of black water that glittered in the faint moonlight. If they landed in the lake he would be doomed twice over—all their belongings would sink and Sephiroth didn't know how to swim.

"Not the lake, not the lake," he said frantically, shoving closer to the front.

Genesis turned, a snappy response already half-formed, and then broke off.

"Wait, you mean you _still_ haven't learned—"

"Just don't land in the lake," said Sephiroth.

"Don't plan on it," said Ron tightly, but he was sweating heavily, shaking the steering wheel as if that would somehow make the engine work properly.

"Oi, that tree—"

" _That's the Whomping Willow!_ "

That was around when the car took a full on nose-dive off the deep end of insanity and flung itself in a full one-eighty, whipping them around so quickly that Sephiroth didn't have time to catch himself. He went flying forward, landing on Genesis and accidentally slamming his hand into Genesis's face when he tried to stop his momentum.

They breezed by the Whomping Willow, the branches lashing out at the sides of the vehicle with the strength of a battering ram, crumpling the metal and sending the car racing back toward the castle. Sephiroth struggled to pull himself upright, fighting against Genesis's attempts at "helping," which involved more trying to shove Sephiroth off his lap than actually helping him. There was a reason that seat belts were added to cars, and it was to prevent the exact mess Sephiroth had gotten into.

"THE WALL!" Angeal bellowed, pointing and jumping to grab the steering wheel (as if four hands would make the car stop faster). The car was tearing through the air, straight for one of the castle walls. Made of reinforced stone and having stood for hundreds of years—it was an unmovable object and they were an easily breakable force.

"IT'S NOT WORKING!" Ron shrieked back, pulling out his wand—beating the dashboard over and over again. "STOP! STOP!"

The wall was getting closer and closer—Sephiroth found moving in a shaking car a lot harder than he thought it would be, but pushed his way into the back. He could take some of the impact, maybe save his brother from broken bones—

"WE'RE GONNA CRASH!" Harry shouted.

The car jerked wildly—taking sudden nose dive that made Sephiroth feel momentarily weightless—and the front of the car met the ground with a crash like an explosion. Metal screeched and tore—the car flipped once and Sephiroth was tossed to the side, vaguely hearing crunching glass. The side of his face flared briefly with pain, before going cold.

For a whole three seconds, the car leaned tediously to one side, eventually slamming down on all four wheels. The front was crunched beyond recognition, windshield sporting thick fractures like crystalline branches—one of the back windows was completely shattered, glass laying inside and out of the car.

Sephiroth's vision was blurry for a handful of seconds that might have actually been minutes—he couldn't rightly tell—and there seemed to be a second heartbeat in his head, pulsating away. As he regained control of his breathing, picking himself off the ground, he became aware of the dull, aching pain that accompanied it. He blinked several times to clear away the stinging in his right eye—he let out a gasp, twisting around to find Harry.

Harry seemed to have escaped the crash mostly unscathed, although there was a large purpling bruise on his forehead and he looked dazed. Angeal was already moving, searching for something in Sephiroth's face, before nodding and moving on to Harry. He seemed to know what he was doing, so Sephiroth didn't question it.

In the front seat, Ron was worse for wear, sporting a bloody nose and a broken wand. He stared at the splinted wood and unicorn hair as if it was the snapped end of his lifeline. Genesis lay halfway across the front, wincing at every movement, and Sephiroth assumed he had probably thrown himself in front of Ron to take the impact. Like everyone else, he seemed to have not taken any serious injuries, so Sephiroth counted them as lucky. Even if he was still blinking something out of his eyes.

"Is that blood?"

Harry seemed to materialize in Sephiroth's face, going very pale.

"It's not as bad as it looks," said Angeal. "Head wounds bleed a lot."

"Head wounds?" said Sephiroth, reaching up to feel around his head, where the knot of pain was steadily getting worse and worse. His fingers came away covered in blood. "Oh."

Genesis let out a huff.

"Hope your hair doesn't stain."

"Bloody hell, Genesis, that is _not_ important right now," said Ron, having torn his eyes from his broken wand long enough to see Sephiroth. "That needs to be patched up."

"Hospital Wing on the first day," said Harry, smiling wryly. "That's got to be a record."

Sephiroth was feeling very left out of this conversation about himself.

"I'm not going to the—"

He never got to finish his sentence, because the car decided at that moment it didn't care what he had to say. The doors swung open with tortured groans, and the seats unexpectedly flipped sideways, dumping them all out onto the ground. The back of the vehicle sprang open and out went their trunks—Shinra screeched and clawed at the leather, thrown out on all fours, and Hedwig was flapping her wings frantically in her cage. The cage unlatched and Hedwig flew out with a cry of triumph.

They stared at the car, which was apparently showing a level of sentience.

"What the—"

The car revved its engine, tires digging into the grass as it took off, all the way down the castle grounds and into the Forbidden Forest. It disappeared in the thick, dark trees.

"Dad's gonna kill us," said Ron hoarsely.

" _Dad's_ gonna kill us?" yelled Genesis, sounding close to hysterics. " _Mum_ is going to do the killing! She'll be furious!"

Sephiroth wiped blood out of his eye, feeling around for the wound. The cut seemed to have gotten a little smaller.

"Here," said Harry, handing Sephiroth his sweater. "Staunch the blood with this . . ."

"I don't need it," said Sephiroth, waving him off. "It's only a shallow cut, and it's already healing."

"If Madam Pomfrey sees the blood, she'll go mad," said Harry. "Take the sweater."

"Harry, I'm fi—"

" _Take the bloody sweater_."

Sephiroth took the sweater.

They climbed up the sloping hill, dragging their luggage behind them. Sephiroth kept a keen eye out for Shinra, who had darted away in the chaos. He was hoping that Shinra only ran off into the immediate area, rather than made a break for the Forbidden Forest, as the car did. The cat was fairly intelligent, so Sephiroth figured he would find his own way back to the castle when he was done sulking over the car crash.

By the time they reached the castle, the adrenaline from their rough landing had worn off and Harry and Ron looked ready to drop from pure exhaustion. Sephiroth's cut had mostly healed up, although the dried blood was still something to worry about, considering it was staining half his face and all up in his hair. Silver was definitely not a good color for hiding something like blood.

Ron dropped his trunk by the steps and groaned, rubbing his arm.

"That's it, I'm beat," he mumbled. "Let's go to bed."

Sephiroth left his trunk next to Ron's, and the rest followed suit. Ron paused at one of the windows, pressing his face against the glass.

"Hey—come and look, guys—it's the Sorting!"

"Did we miss the feast?" asked Sephiroth, rushing over to look through the window with him.

"We didn't miss the feast," said Genesis, rolling his eyes, "but I think sneaking in is a lost cause by now. There's no way they won't notice us."

"But—"

"Missing a single meal won't kill you," snapped Genesis.

Sephiroth huffed and firmly told himself that he wasn't sulking when he ignored Genesis in favor of watching the Sorting commence. The first years were all lined up, just as they had been the year before, white-faced and harried. Ginny was easy to find, with her bright red hair, and there was a mousy boy with blond hair standing next to her. Sephiroth thought the boy was possibly the only one there who didn't look remotely worried, his eyes flicking from face to face with eagerness.

One by one, the first years were called to the stool, wherein Professor McGonagall would place the Sorting Hat on their heads. Sephiroth remembered his own Sorting very well. He had been absolutely terrified through the entire thing, to the point he thought he might drop dead. It was nerve-wracking, waiting for someone to call him out on the fact he wasn't allowed to be there. He had gotten lucky, seeing as no one figured out the truth—even if Hermione came close, Sephiroth had told her the truth before she fully figured it out, meaning it _didn't count—_ and his name, probably by way of Headmaster Dumbledore, ended up on the parchment Professor McGonagall held now.

Sephiroth looked passed the first years to the Head Table, where the professors all sat. His gut twisted with renewed horror when he saw Gilderoy Lockhart, cheerfully tipping his wine glass in the direction of Professor Sprout. Unlike her usual kind self, Professor Sprout looked as though she wanted to grow the very finest batch of Devil's Snare and either strangle Lockhart, or simply off herself to end the agony of listening to Lockhart's prattling once and for all.

"What is he wearing?" scoffed Genesis. "What's he trying to be, an aquarium? Are those fish designs?"

"I think they're moving," commented Angeal offhandedly.

"Oh, now that's just an insult to aquariums all around the world."

"Hang on," said Harry suddenly, eyes narrowing. "There's an empty chair at the staff table. . . .Where's Snape?"

Sephiroth gave the Head Table another glance over, and just as Harry said, Snape was missing. He immediately noticed who his chair was directly next to.

"He was probably escaping Lockhart," sneered Genesis. "Pompous fake. There's no way a man as incompetent as that is legitimate."

"Don't let Mum or Hermione hear you say that," grumbled Ron.

"D'you suppose he left?" said Harry, caught on the Snape detail. "Maybe he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again!"

"And he did what, rage-quit?" said Genesis sarcastically.

"He might have been sacked," Ron suggested with a hopeful grin. "I mean, everyone hates him—"

"That's not exactly tru—" Sephiroth started, but he cut himself off when he heard footsteps behind them. "Someone's coming."

"I hear it, too," said Genesis.

"Snape and Filch are the only ones not in the hall right now," said Angeal grimly.

They scurried away from the window, ducking behind several suits of armor, as Professor Snape prowled up the front steps, his black robes billowing around him as dramatically as ever. Really, if he hadn't become a Potions Master, he should have attempted to pursue a career in acting.

Once he disappeared from sight (and hearing), they clambered out of hiding and congregated in front of the window again. Sephiroth was reminded of all the times they had sneaked around the castle and hidden from the professors in their first year. He hoped Harry wouldn't have the itch to explore the castle after dark this time around.

"Think we can lay low until the feast is over?" said Ron. "We can blend in with everyone afterward, and head straight to the dormitories."

"It's too bad we can't just head there now," said Angeal, frowning.

"Yeah, but we need the password to get into the common room." Genesis crossed his arms, leaning against the edge of the windowsill.

"I'm sure we can ask Hermione," said Harry.

"Hermione's going to be furious when she finds out," said Sephiroth, and the others' eyes on him instantly, just as unnerved as he felt. _When_ she found out, not if, because Hermione always, always discovered these kinds of things. He could imagine her expression when she learned they flew a car to school, and it wasn't a lighthearted thought.

"Don't forget," said Genesis, for once looking at Sephiroth with more pity than teasing, "Madam Pomfrey will want to do a check-up on you."

Sephiroth stiffened.

"I don't suppose it's not too late to leave?" he said faintly.

Harry sighed, resting his forehead on his arms, leaned up against the window.

"If it was a person responsible for the barrier not working," he said, "I'm going to throttle them."

Roughly thirty minutes later, the feast ended and Dumbledore gave his start-of-term speech, grandly introducing the new students to the school, and welcoming the old ones back. Sephiroth watched mournfully as the dishes vanished at once, before spotting the back of Hermione's bushy-haired head. He contemplated suggesting to the others that they run for their lives, but decided against it. One way or another, they were going to face her—might as well be sooner than later.

Except they didn't even make it that far. Professor Snape was waiting for them when they tried to join the throngs of students leaving for their respective dormitories, his pale face twisted in to a cruel type of triumph. His dark eyes glinted as he stared them down as though they were lambs to the slaughterhouse.

"There you are," he said with mix of amusement and annoyance that seemed unnatural, but he somehow made it work. "Thought you'd avoid explaining yourselves? Go on, I'm waiting. Do tell—why didn't you five arrive on the school train?"

Sephiroth's mouth opened and shut. He hadn't heard Snape coming.

"What do you mean?" asked Genesis, the picture of baffled innocence.

"Don't try to be smar—"

"Ah! _There_ you are!" came a flowery and enthusiastic voice.

Snape's face dropped, adopting a look that warred between dread and annoyance. Sephiroth didn't blame him in the least, because the man who stepped through the Great Hall doors was Gilderoy Lockhart, beaming and trotting over toward them.

"Just the man I was looking for—you were missing during the feast!" said Gilderoy, tutting. "Such a shame, it was quite honestly one of the best I've ever had. Of course, it's nothing on my own brand of cooking—now let me tell you, I can fix a quiche to _die_ for."

Snape spasmed violently, looking as though he would rather throw back a shot-glass of the deadliest poison than listen to Gilderoy speak for another second.

Sephiroth felt almost guilty, using the moment of Lockhart's arrival to make a dash for the nearest cluster of Gryffindors. He couldn't begin to imagine how awful it would be if Lockhart spotted him. Genesis, Angeal, Harry, and Ron quickly followed him, and he was fairly sure they all mirrored the same thoughts on the situation.

Better Snape than them.

* * *

 **A/N: Back at Hogwarts! I was rereading the Chamber of Secrets (for the umpteenth time) and I almost forgot what a nuisance Lockhart is. It takes a special kind of talent (read: moron) to manage to get under the feet of every single professor at once. XD**

 **Thanks for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! :D Until next week~**


	7. Chapter 7

07

The following morning was no less chaotic than the day before, as they couldn't avoid having to explain why they didn't arrive at Hogwarts on the train, like every other student. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that they wouldn't get away with it—the professors were hardly blind and it was nigh impossible to _not_ notice if Sephiroth was missing.

For one, they had noted there was an excessive amount of food left over, due to whoever prepared the meals having taken steps to accommodate for Sephiroth's ferocious appetite. Number two, there was the fact his hair was silver and hung down to his ankles.

Long story short, Sephiroth, Genesis, Angeal, Harry, and Ron were sentenced to a detention. Sephiroth was very close to relieved, having expected something much worse. Ron had outright assumed they were expelled and was nearly in tears, while Genesis had gone apoplectic.

On the topic of apoplectic, there was Madam Pomfrey. She fussed over the (completely healed) wound on Sephiroth's forehead, and then her temper came dangerously close to snapping when she took his weight and height. He really had lost more weight than was healthy over the summer and he hadn't grown nearly as much as she expected. It wasn't as though he could tell her that he was starved against his will over the entire summer, so he was left enduring her lecture about nutrition and a balanced diet. She would likely be breathing down his neck for the entire school year to ensure he ate enough.

As if a detention and Madam Pomfrey becoming his new watchdog wasn't bad enough, Hermione was every bit as furious as they predicted. Unlike the other Gryffindors, who welcomed them with cheers and congratulations, Hermione had scowled and gone off on a tirade over how irresponsible she thought they were. The morning after their disastrous car ride, she wouldn't even look at them twice, hiding her face behind her copy of _Voyages with Vampires_.

The fact it was a Gilderoy Lockhart book only added further insult to injury.

Sephiroth moped through most of breakfast during their first morning at Hogwarts, thoroughly disliking it when Hermione was angry at them. He still couldn't find Shinra, and the cat's disappearance was worrying him even more.

"Honestly—look at what you're doing!"

Sephiroth tuned into Genesis and Hermione's argument, having been lethargically pushing a spoon through his breakfast. He was surprised to find Genesis stabbing a hand in his direction, while glaring accusingly at Hermione.

"He's like a kicked puppy!" said Genesis. "Stop guilt-tripping him!"

"A kicked—I am _not—_ " Sephiroth started, outraged, but Hermione wouldn't let him finish.

"I'm not doing anything!" she hissed. "Sephiroth, finish eating your breakfast!"

He stared at them, nonplussed.

"What d'you think I've been doing?"

"Making shapes in your porridge," snapped Genesis readily. He turned back to Hermione. "Now would you get over it? So what, we flew the car. The barrier wouldn't let us through—what would you have us do?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, very sarcastic, "send an owl?"

"I suggested that," Angeal threw in.

"Angeal, don't take her side!"

"I'm not taking sides," sighed Angeal.

Their argument would have gone on for much longer, were they not interrupted by the timely arrival of the mail. Dozens of owls swept in through the Great Hall, packages and letters clutched in talons and beaks, descending in a flurry of feathers to their respective owners. Neville snatched up a large package that probably contained several things he had forgotten, while a letter dropped onto the top of Hermione's bushy-haired head.

Two seconds later, a large dark owl that Sephiroth recognized as Zack's swooped down, and his heart dropped.

He had forgotten that the professors wrote to Cloud, Zack, and Aerith about their mishap. It was completely unexpected _—_ before now, Sephiroth and Harry never had guardians to worry over them _—_ and he didn't know if he should feel wonder or dread. Sephiroth and Harry stared at the three letters that were dropped on the table in front of them, unsure how to react. Never had it occurred to Sephiroth that he would getting letters from home this year. _From home_.

"Whose do you want to open first?" asked Harry, wide-eyed.

Sephiroth reached for Cloud's letter first, trying to imagine what he would think of their escapade as he tore open the envelope.

 _Don't hesitate to ask for a ride if you need one, falling from that altitude would have been dangerous even for you, Sephiroth. Harry, it would have been fatal for you, not to mention your friends. Next year, I'll drive you two if you can't get to the train in time. Was there a reason you couldn't use the barrier?_

 _Cloud_.

"He doesn't sound too angry," said Harry, surprised.

"I think he just offered to let us ride on his motorcycle," said Sephiroth eagerly.

"Who has a motorcycle?" said Genesis, peering over _Loveless_.

"Cloud does," said Harry offhandedly. He picked up Aerith's letter next.

 _Sephiroth and Harry,_

 _I'm sure the professors are already working out a punishment for you, so I won't berate you too much, although flying a car to school is very dangerous. We were all very worried when we saw how high you were flying. Cloud's deliveries take him all over the country, so if something goes wrong next time, make sure to contact him. Was the barrier malfunctioning? I know Cloud probably asked this, but I can't help but wonder._

 _Sephiroth, your school nurse contacted us about your health, are you feeling well? Both of you make sure to take care of yourselves!_

 _Love, Aerith_.

 _P.S. Have you gone to any of your classes yet? How is the Herbology class? I'm curious about the plants they teach about! Make sure to study well._

There were a couple smiley faces thrown in, too.

"Madam Pomfrey sent them an owl?" said Harry, throwing Sephiroth a suspicious glance, as if wondering if Sephiroth was keeping something from him.

"I'm fine," said Sephiroth. He would have to write to Aerith to inform her that Madam Pomfrey fussed over every little thing, and that she didn't need to worry about anything.

"I suppose this means we'll actually have to look out for the professors writing home about us from now on," said Harry, although he didn't sound particularly displeased. "We . . . must have really worried them."

Sephiroth hummed his agreement, glancing at Zack's letter, which was the heaviest by far.

"That's not how you're supposed to react to lectures," said Genesis, casting them a bewildered stare.

"Yeah, but . . ." Harry trailed off, glancing Aerith's letter over again.

"They were _worried_ ," said Sephiroth, as if that explained everything. It did, to them at least. Genesis looked no less confused, though.

Harry ripped open the envelope on Zack's letter and slipped the paper out. As expected of Zack, it was the size of a small novel.

 _Yo, Seph and Harry_

 _I'm going to ignore the part where flying a car to school is wicked awesome. (It really is). Aerith will probably scold you and all, not to mention the professors, so...How did it even work? Was there a windy vortex and you spun straight up, or did the magic just kind of lift you up, or what? Not that I think it was a cool idea! Don't do that again! How high were you even flying, man? Did you see any air planes? ...Did the car have wings?_

 _What's Hogwarts like? Is there some way to get technology to work around magic, because I need to send you two some phones. They're easier and quicker than owls. (Don't tell Gaepora I said that, he'll get angry at me and he almost took off a finger last time he was angry at me). And phones can send pictures. Aren't there unicorns in the forest? Not that you should go in there, I heard it's against the rules._

 _Oh, Harry, tell me when your first Quidditch match happens! I don't want to miss it! Seph, why haven't you tried out or something? You'd probably be good at it. It's not because you don't like flying, is it? Come on, man. You and Harry would make an epic team. Those twins were pretty awesome, too. Who else is on the team?_

 _Have you learned any magic? I don't think I've said enough how cool a magic school is. We've got these things called materia that do magic for us, but this is the wizard/witch kind of magic with spells and stuff! You're learning how to make potions, too, right?_

Zack went on for awhile about magic and potions, along with inquiring as to the usage of monster parts in the potion recipes. It had been awhile since the last time Sephiroth mixed up a potion, and he didn't remember if there were any monster parts involved. He couldn't exactly ask Professor Snape, so he would have to read it up in the library at some point.

By the time Sephiroth and Harry finished reading Zack's letter, they were both grinning and holding off laughter. Genesis looked even more nonplussed by their actions and Hermione seemed a fraction away from disapproving at their lack of remorse.

"Yeah, Seph," said Harry, highly amused, "why don't you try out for Quidditch? You've got the agility for a Chaser."

Sephiroth opened his mouth to retort sharply, but was interrupted by a streak of gray and a small, half-dead owl landed in Hermione's jug of milk.

He wiped his face clean of milk as Ron fished the owl out of the jug. He remembered the owl from his stay at the Weasleys, and it had often managed to find its way underfoot, or onto random chairs. They would forget to open the window in the morning, so Errol would almost always smack right into it every day. Errol wasn't a very bright owl, unlike Hedwig, who more or less tolerated Errol as an inferior. It was somewhat amusing to watch.

This time, Ron didn't look amused at all. He had blanched the moment his eyes fixed on the crimson letter in Errol's beak. It was stuck there because the owl passed out as soon as Ron set him outside the milk jug, legs straight up, and dripping wet. Poor Errol was having a bad day, Sephiroth thought sympathetically.

"She didn't—" Genesis reached over and snatched the red letter, staring as though it was a betrayal of his trust. "She did."

"Do they follow us?" said Angeal, sounding as though he was being hunted. "I don't think they follow us. We could make a break for it."

"What's the matter?" asked Harry, voicing the question on Sephiroth's mind.

"She's—she's sent us a Howler," said Ron, looking as frightened as he did when the car stopped working in mid-air, while they were still inside it.

"You'd better open it," said Neville, glancing around from face to face nervously when he noticed he had their attention. "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and—it was horrible."

Neville stared off into nowhere, caught in the middle of a bad memory.

Sephiroth decided he wanted nothing to do with the Howler.

"Genesis, burn it with fire," he said. "Or something. They can be destroyed, right?"

Genesis shook his head numbly.

"They're indestructible—inescapable—we're doomed," he said. "Does anyone have earplugs?"

There was a response of shaking heads and apologetic faces.

"What's a Howler?" asked Harry, frowning in confusion.

He was ignored in favor of the letter, which was trembling and sending out bursts of smoke. Sephiroth felt as though he was looking at a grenade with its pin pulled, going off the way the others were reacting. Neville urged them to open it—something Sephiroth thought was a terrible idea—and assured them it would be over in minutes.

"Okay," said Ron, forcing himself to look less terrified. He turned to Genesis and Angeal. "I'll open it—you two dive under the table. Hopefully that'll muffle the noise."

"Sephiroth, you do the same," said Angeal.

"What?" said Sephiroth.

He didn't receive a reply, because Ron had torn open the letter with a quick movement, as though ripping off a bandage. All the Gryffindors around them immediately clamped their hands over their ears. Sephiroth was about to ask why—and make to move under the table, as Genesis and Angeal frantically did—but the shrieking letter took him off guard.

"— _STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU THREE—ANGEAL, I THOUGHT YOU KNEW BETTER,_ _YOU ALL COULD HAVE DIED_ _—"_

Sephiroth was going to die. His eardrums were going to blow up, and then he was going to die. He vaguely recognized the shouter as Mrs. Weasley, thundering through the Great Hall and warping from the sheer volume of her voice. It was so loud that Sephiroth's entire body felt as though it was reverberating with the sound waves. He was starting to feel dizzy.

A hand grabbed the front of his Hogwarts robes and yanked him under the table—Sephiroth narrowly avoided smacking his chin on the table, which would have hurt a lot—and he found himself hunkered down with Genesis and Angeal. They both had their fingers jammed in their ears, but going off the discomfort on their faces, it wasn't helping much. Sephiroth did the same, as any level of protection against the magnified screaming above them was better than none.

" _ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED—YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME—"_

By the time the letter stopped howling, Sephiroth couldn't hear anything over the deafening ringing in his ears. He pulled his hands away, staring blearily, and started when Genesis reached over and swiped at his ears with an alarmed expression.

"What?" said Sephiroth, only to find he couldn't hear his own voice. That was problematic.

Genesis was saying something, but Sephiroth wasn't good at reading lips. He was fairly sure his ears weren't beaming.

Angeal pulled him up from under the table, there was a _pop—_ Sephiroth winced, clutching at his left ear—and sound flooded back to life on his left side.

"—think it blew his eardrums out, he must be more sensitive than we are—" Genesis tugged at Sephiroth's sleeve. "I'll get you to Madam Pomfrey—"

"I'm fine," said Sephiroth hastily. "My ear's already healed up. I don't need to go to the Hospital Wing."

There was absolutely no way he was allowing himself to be dragged to the hospital. It would have been the second time in two days, and there was a fine line between frequent visits and living in the Hospital Wing. As it was, Madam Pomfrey already had a cot set aside just for him.

His right ear started working with another sharp pop, the building pressure disappearing. It was uncomfortable, but at least he was no longer deaf.

Sephiroth noticed Harry had abandoned his food, looking faintly green and ashamed. He had a feeling it was something the letter said, but he didn't remember much of what was shouted. He was deaf through most of it. Still, they had caused the Weasleys a great amount of grief; first with taking the car without permission, then getting spotted by Muggles, and on top of that the car hadn't been found yet. If Mrs. Weasley had seen any of the moving photographs Professor Snape showed them, then she knew exactly how high off the ground they'd flown for most of the trip, too.

As he cleaned the blood from his ears, Professor McGonagall passed by the Gryffindor table with a stack of course schedules. She recommended that Sephiroth pay a visit to the hospital as she handed out his course schedule, which he definitely wasn't going to do. They were always trying to shove him into a hospital bed—one of these days, Sephiroth was going to jump off the Astronomy Tower, just to prove how fragile he _wasn't_.

"She's insane," said Genesis as they headed to their first class of the school year. "Bonkers. I can't believe she sent a _Howler_. She _knows_ our ears are sensitive—Sephiroth was _bleeding—_ I'm going to tell her that. Let her wallow in guilt."

" _Don't,_ " said Angeal in warning. "She'll either get angry at you, or smother Sephiroth. Or both."

"'Covered in blood' doesn't seem dramatic enough to get the point across," said Genesis, ignoring Angeal effortlessly. "You could say the blood was gushing out, right? Sephiroth, you were in a load of pain, right?"

"No, not really—"

" _Agonizing_ pain," said Genesis. "You should have gone to the hospital, it would have added extra impact. Maybe we could have even gotten Madam Pomfrey to send a letter complaining."

"Are you trying to guilt-trip your Mum with Sephiroth?" said Harry, bemused.

"Yes," said Genesis.

"Absolutely not!" said Hermione heatedly. "It's bad enough you're trying to retract your punishment, but using Sephiroth for it—"

Sephiroth wanted to know when they were going to stop arguing about him in conversations while he was standing (or sitting) right next to them. He sighed and fell into step with Harry as they tromped over the castle grounds toward the greenhouses for their Herbology lesson. He tied not to look at the shards of glass and pieces of bent metal from the car crash last night. They had landed dangerously close to the greenhouses.

They were among the last to arrive at the greenhouses, the rest of the class already congregated around the door and waiting for Professor Sprout. Sephiroth was curious as to why Professor Sprout was so late, but before he could voice his question, he saw the reason strolling down the grass, right behind Professor Sprout. Her face, usually kindly and smiling, was set into a hard frown—entirely understandable, considering it was Gilderoy Lockhart who was behind her.

"I'm not here," said Sephiroth, ducking behind Angeal. He ignored the startled look Angeal gave him.

Harry tried to follow suit, but there wasn't enough room for both of them. It ended up looking very awkward, so Harry tried to move back farther and blend with the rest of the students. He failed, because the moment Lockhart arrived on scene, he seemed to zero in on Harry immediately—sweeping golden locks out of his eyes with a grand flick of his wrist. Sephiroth waited for him to call Harry out, and for their next session of mortal humiliation to begin.

Luck seemed to be on their side, as Lockhart addressed the entire class instead.

"Oh, hello there!" He smiled widely at them, as if he just noticed the class standing there. No one was impressed, with the exception of every single female student in the class—including Hermione, Sephiroth noticed with horror. "Just been showing Professor Sprout what I know about Herbology! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to know a few things, never hurts to be adept in multiple studies! It's helped on my travels on many occasions, as I'm sure you've read about . . ."

Hermione was nodding quickly.

As soon as classes were over for the day, Sephiroth was going to pull her aside and they were going to have a very serious chat. There had to be some kind of mental affliction ruining her common sense. He refused to believe someone as levelheaded and wise as Hermione would get caught up in Lockhart's obviously fake, and gag-worthy, charm.

Professor Sprout directed them to greenhouse three with a strained attempt at looking happy, taking a key from her belt and making to unlock the door. She quickly waved them inside, harried and blatantly avoiding eye-contact with Lockhart. Sephiroth was right behind Harry, not quite shoving him along as fast as possible, but it was close enough. He wanted to avoid getting cornered by Lockhart at all costs—

"Harry! I've been wanting a word—" Lockhart's hands landed on Sephiroth and Harry's shoulders, stopping them both. He turned to beam at Professor Sprout. "You don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

"She minds very much," said Sephiroth, tugging free. He grabbed Harry's arm. "Education is very important."

If Hermione was there, she would have been proud. (He tried not to think that she would probably swoon over Lockhart—it was just too terrible. Lockhart must have cursed her or something, because Sephiroth couldn't think of any other reason she would admire him so much.)

"That's the ticket," said Lockhart, mindless of the way Professor Sprout's face darkened and how Sephiroth's hand clenched into fist. Professor or not, he was going to punch Lockhart's lights out.

"Harry—"

Sephiroth stopped mid-punch, his arm angled back slightly, when Lockhart grinned and shook his head. Sephiroth watched on, morbidly curious despite himself.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart—his teeth had to be artificially whitened. There was no way they were so white naturally. "When I heard—well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."

Sephiroth blinked once, and then twice. If Lockhart spoke anything like he wrote his books, it was a wonder he ever sold anything. Then again, Sephiroth wouldn't know any better. He hadn't bothered to read any of Lockhart's books.

"Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile."

He was going to go off a limb and guess that Lockhart didn't know the barrier had ceased functioning. Even so, Lockhart looked absolutely confident, as if there wasn't a shadow of doubt in his mind. That seemed to be his permanent state of being, though—so Sephiroth didn't put much stock behind it. Lockhart was more of an actor than a book writer, or even a talented wizard. Knowing that, it made Sephiroth question why on earth Dumbledore would hire someone like him for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Harry, Harry, Harry—"

"How many times are you going to repeat his name?" asked Sephiroth irritably. He brushed off Lockhart's attempt at grabbing his shoulder again. "Can we go?"

"Just one moment—" there was a wide, cheesy grin that made Sephiroth's stomach turn, "—I gave you two a taste for publicity? Harry Potter and his sister, I never did get your na—"

" _I'm his brother, for the last time_ ," hissed Sephiroth, balling his hand in a fist again. "I am going to punch you so hard. You'll taste blood for the rest of the school year, so help me."

Lockhart had drawn back, startled.

"A vicious one? No need to get worried—I'm not trying to take your moment in the spotlight," he said—and Sephiroth could only stare in complete shock. Lockhart's ability to twist any and all things to how he wanted to hear them was unbelievable. "You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you couldn't wait to do it again."

Harry must have spotted the murderous glint in Sephiroth's eyes, because he grabbed Sephiroth's arm and tried to cut off Lockhart before a bloodbath occurred.

"Oh, no, Professor, see—"

"Harry, Harry, Harry—I understand!"

"No, Sephiroth—don't!"

Sephiroth held himself back only because Harry clearly didn't want the trouble, although if Lockhart made one more derogatory or blithe statement about either of them, he was going to throw caution into the wind and knock Lockhart unconscious. He might wind up with a concussion and forget why he was there in the first place—they could blame it on him tripping on his ridiculous robes.

"Have you calmed down?" said Lockhart, giving Sephiroth a look that was supposed to be concerned, but only made him want to punch Lockhart even more. "I know, this kind of topic can be riling—I don't blame your nerves being strung. It's only natural! And even more natural is the want to have a bit more of that fame once you've had the first taste—and I blame myself for giving you that, because it was bound to go to your head—but see here, young man, you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for that when you're older. I was just as much of a nobody when I was your age! In fact, I'd say I was even more of a . . ."

And for the love of all things holy, Lockhart could talk. Sephiroth phased in and out of understanding what he was saying, teetering between desperately bored and infuriated.

"And with a pretty thing like this by your side—" Lockhart patted Sephiroth's cheek with a wink—and Lockhart wouldn't remember most of the day upon waking up, hours later, after being knocked unconscious by a single punch to his face.

"Let's go," said Sephiroth, marching toward the greenhouse.

"Yeah," said Harry, entirely unconcerned for their DADA professor. "He was asking for it."

Sephiroth had a very hard time keeping the wide smile off his face when he told Genesis all about how he socked Gilderoy Lockhart in the face. Genesis regretted being unable to see it happening in person, while Hermione looked absolutely horrified and turned to Angeal for support.

"He probably deserved it," said Angeal.

"He punched a _teacher_ ," said Hermione in a furious undertone. " _Gilderoy Lockhart!_ "

"And he knocked the oh-so famous hero unconscious," said Genesis with a grin that was definitely meant to annoy. "Think on that, why don't you?"

She was forced to drop the subject as the class started, and they were instructed to take a single pair of the earmuffs laid out. Sephiroth felt a spike of dread when he saw the earmuffs, unsure what could possibly require so much ear protection. They looked as though three earmuffs had been squashed into one, to make an ultimate noise canceler. He hoped they would work with his hearing, too.

"We'll be repotting Mandrakes today," said Professor Sprout when they had all found their spots around the tables. "Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

Genesis and Hermione both tried to answer first, glaring at each other vehemently. Eventually, Professor Sprout pointed out Genesis to answer.

"Mandrake is a powerful restorative, most commonly used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed back to their original state," said Genesis very importantly—Ron rolled his eyes and had his foot stomped on as a result. "Petrification is an example of the curses that Mandrake will cure."

"Very good—take ten points for Gryffindor." Professor Sprout started to move toward the back of the greenhouse, the rest of the class following her. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Sephiroth had to dodge Genesis's arm, for fear of losing an eye. Hermione mirrored his action, and was chosen this time around.

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it."

She received ten points for her answer and shot Genesis a haughty look. Sephiroth regretted standing between them now. They had turned question and answer time into a war between who could earn the most points.

Professor Sprout led them to the line of trays. They were filled with enough Mandrakes for a small army, hardly the size of Sephiroth's forearm in length and a pasty greenish color. The leaves were a faint violet, bushy and covering most of the lumpy bodies of the plants. As far as plants went, they were quite ugly. He couldn't picture Aerith growing Mandrakes in her garden.

"Does everyone have a pair of earmuffs?" asked Professor Sprout, looking from student to student.

Sephiroth remembered what Hermione said about the cry of the Mandrake being fatal to all who heard it, and his heart plummeted.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout, deadly serious. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right—earmuffs on."

Half expecting to drop dead in the next few seconds, Sephiroth pressed the earmuffs firmly over his ears, holding them in place for extra measure. He could hear nothing through the earmuffs, all noise canceled out, and he wished he had had the earmuffs when Mrs. Weasley's Howler was delivered.

He glanced over to reassure himself that Harry had his earmuffs on, too—and missed the initial unearthing of the Mandrake, eyes snapping back to Professor Sprout in time to see her lifting what looked like a grotesquely mutated baby. A baby that was formed from a plant and covered in leaves and prickly-looking spines. Its mouth opened wide in a long cry, which Sephiroth couldn't hear, thanks to the earmuffs working exactly as they were supposed to.

Professor Sprout shoved the Mandrake into a bucket, covering it with foul-smelling and moist compost. All that was left of the Mandrake when she was done was the leaves sticking off its head, protruding from the surface of the dark soil. She gave them the thumbs-up to take off their earmuffs, removing her own in unison with the students.

"They worked," said Genesis, quietly surprised. "Huh."

"I was expecting something a lot worse," Angeal admitted.

Sephiroth really thought he might die for a second there. He wasn't going to say that out loud, though. Genesis would accuse him of being unnecessarily jumpy over everything. Even if potential death caused by the screams of a plant seemed like something to worry about, and it wouldn't be the first time one of Professor Sprout's plants almost killed him.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," Professor Sprout explained as everyone massaged their ears. The earmuffs hadn't been very comfortable. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up."

Sephiroth was already reaching to put his earmuffs back on, uncomfortable or not.

"Four to a tray—there is a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there," Professor Sprout instructed, passing from student to student to observe as they got to work. "And be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething."

That would be the third time a plant tried to kill Sephiroth.

He was starting to think plant life had it out for him. He could hear people sneaking up on him, even smell them from a fair distance, but it was significantly harder to keep track of a vine covered in teeth that were imbued with venom. The venom probably wouldn't kill Sephiroth, unlike other people, but it would definitely hurt—for a very long time.

Sephiroth crowded around a tray with Genesis and Angeal, while across from them was Harry, Hermione, and Ron. They were something of a close-knit group, and everyone in Gryffindor knew that, so it was a slight surprise when another boy pushed into their space. The boy didn't seem to notice Genesis glowering, or Angeal throwing Genesis a _behave-or-else_ look, or Ron's wooden expression.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," the boy introduced himself with a smile, shaking Harry's hand vigorously. Something about him reminded Sephiroth of Lockhart and he was instantly wary. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter—"

Any good opinion Sephiroth had of Justin Finch-Fletchley was draining. It wasn't that he disliked people obsessing over his brother's fame—only that he really hated it when all people saw was Harry's fame. In other words, he hated it when people talked about Harry's fame. He wasn't fond of how easily the reception to people with fame was swayed back and forth. He remembered Aunt Petunia slandering celebrities she had respected only weeks before, all over one news article. The thought of something like that happening to Harry was nothing short of awful.

"And his . . . brother," said Justin hesitantly. It was brief, but enough for Sephiroth to hear, and wonder what it was for. Most of the school should have known he was Harry's brother. He was fairly sure he announced it a couple times. "And you're Hermione Granger—always top in everything—"

This pleased Hermione beyond words. She smiled broadly as she accepted his handshake.

"—and Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car? You three are brothers, right?" said Justin, pointing between Genesis, Angeal, and Ron.

Neither of them looked amused. Genesis in particular was seething.

Sephiroth sensed a battle that Justin didn't really deserve about to go down. He had more or less barged into their group without asking, but he seemed nice.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" Justin went on, abolishing any and all good opinions Sephiroth had wracked up. "Awfully brave chap."

Suddenly Sephiroth wouldn't mind if Genesis punched Justin.

"Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and—zap—just fantastic."

"He's a fraud," said Genesis flatly.

Hermione clamped a hand over Genesis's mouth and gave Justin a winning smile.

"Ignore him, he's still tired from his _long_ car ride last night," she said.

"Oh, well—" Justin looked taken aback, but continued speaking anyway. "My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I cam I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books, I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family."

Sephiroth felt the same kind of pity one had for a person who carried a nasty mental disease. He hoped it was curable and wished that person good luck, even if he didn't really want to be in the same vicinity. If he had to hear Justin's fanatical ranting about Gilderoy Lockhart for longer than absolutely required, he might go insane as well.

The lesson was something of a blessing, seeing as the earmuffs and screaming plant-babies made it impossible to hold a conversation. Sephiroth's relief lasted only about thirty seconds, until he realized a few crucial things about the Mandrakes. For one, they were terribly disobedient and were about as inclined to go into their pots as a rat was to go into the same plastic ball twice. A pudgy hand would grab the edge of pot, they would bite at his fingers, and when they learned that ripping at his hair caused discomfort, it became a downhill battle. Sephiroth spent most of the class wrestling his hair from the Mandrakes. (Genesis was incredibly amused—right up until one of them somehow got their hands on his copy of _Loveless_.)

"That was—so horrible," said Genesis as they left the greenhouses, covered in dirt and bruises. There was a bite mark on his wrist.

Sephiroth had a bruise on his shoulder where one of the plants tried out some acrobatics with his hair and attempted to take a chunk out of his arm. It was the first class and already the hair-tugging was unbearable. He was going to ask Hermione for another hair tie as soon as possible.

"They're vicious gits," said Ron, nodding in agreement.

"I don't think you were handling them quite right," said Hermione. "There's an area between their underarms and rib cage that seemed to relax them."

"Didn't think to tell us that earlier?" said Ron waspishly.

"I couldn't have!" she protested. "The earmuffs blocked all sound!"

They sped their way up to the castle, pouring into the bathrooms to clean the dirt off their arms and faces and everywhere else the Mandrakes managed to smear compost. Hermione transfigured a rock into a ribbon and handed it to Sephiroth without him even needing to ask, something he felt would probably be the highlight of his day. He set it aside for after Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class—he didn't have the time to stand still and focus on gathering all of his hair up—which came right after Herbology.

She spent most of the class touching up on everything they learned last year. Sephiroth was going to have to thank Aerith for insisting they review some of their old work, else he might not have remembered how to turn a beetle into a button. It took Harry a couple tries, but he got it as well. Ron was reduced to arguing with his wand in frustration as it did nothing but shoot out sparks. His wand was no less broken than it was when the car crashed, wrapped up with Spellotape to keep it in one piece.

By the time class was over, Professor McGonagall's lips were set in a hard line every time her gaze passed over Ron, whose wand wouldn't stop letting out wheezes and the occasional burst of smoke. They were among the last the leave Professor McGonagall's class, kept waiting by an enraged Ron due to his malfunctioning wand.

"I'll add a buying Ron a new wand onto the list of things Mum should do for traumatizing Sephiroth," said Genesis, giving Ron's shoulder a pat.

Sephiroth drew a blank.

"Traumatized?"

"Yes, that explosion of banshee wails that blew out your eardrums and left you a bloody mess," said Genesis eloquently. "Mum can get Ron a new wand to make up for it."

"But I wasn't—"

"Mum doesn't need to know that," said Genesis with a devious grin.

Sephiroth turned to Angeal—he should have known better, as for all Angeal tried to reign in Genesis, half of the reasons he got away with all he did was because Angeal let him—and wasn't surprised when he looked away.

"I didn't hear anything," mumbled Angeal.

"I don't think that'll work," said Ron. "She'll only send another Howler. Don't test her."

Lunch appeared on the tables and Sephiroth let himself be swept away by all the different kinds of foods. Aerith's tea was good and Zack could fix a passable plate of (burnt) pancakes, but there was nothing like a meal at Hogwarts. He missed the feast the night before, something he was still aggrieved over. There was the Halloween Feast and the Christmas Feast to look forward to, at least.

Now that he thought about it, he didn't know if they would stay at Hogwarts this year. Now that they had a welcoming home to return to for Christmas, it seemed almost tempting. Sephiroth spared at glance at Harry, who was working through a stack of sandwiches, not quite sure what he would want. Harry loved Hogwarts, but he also adored their new home, so it was something a dilemma. Sephiroth would follow him wherever he went, whatever the case.

Even if Zack would pout through the means of an avalanche of letters.

"What've we got this afternoon?" asked Harry, leaning over to look at Hermione's schedule.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione answered without even consulting her paper.

Sephiroth assumed she had already memorized her schedule. Then Ron grabbed her schedule away from her and dashed his hopes.

" _Why_ have you outlined all of Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

"You _what_?" said Genesis stonily.

"Hermione, Lockhart is a _creep_ ," said Sephiroth, trying his best not to whine. He didn't think he succeeded all too well. "He kept trying to act like he knew what Harry and I were thinking. It was annoying."

"And he's a _fraud_ ," added Genesis.

Hermione, red-faced, huffed indignantly.

"You've got no proof to those claims," she said. "And he's a brilliant wizard who uses both logic and ingenuity with magic to win his battles. It's not something often seen in a wizard!"

"The only thing he's got ingenuity with is making sure he's always got a hand on your shoulder," said Sephiroth in an undertone that he knew Hermione heard, going off her scowl.

After lunch, they headed into the courtyard for fresh air. Harry and Ron were discussing Quidditch, something Sephiroth would have to accept all over again. He didn't know how Harry could want to participate in a sport with enchanting flying objects when nearly all their encounters with enchanted flying objects ended badly for them. Well, the car had—Harry's broom was jinxed by Voldemort, so it technically wasn't the broom's fault.

Hermione took the ribbon she transfigured for Sephiroth earlier and piled his hair up. ("Now it won't be giving you problems.") As soon as she was done, she pulled out _Voyages with Vampires_ and was engrossed in the book, seeming to silence out the world around her, as she always did when she read books. Genesis was still pondering over the details of the guilt-tripping letter he was going to send Mrs. Weasley, while Angeal pretended not to notice. If Sephiroth was to be entirely honest, it was somewhat boring.

That was probably why his eyes caught Draco Malfoy waving to get his attention through a sparse crowd of passing students. Sephiroth watched Draco's attempts at catching his eye without alerting the others for several moments, divided between amusement and pretending not to notice. Insulting Draco's pride most likely wasn't the best option.

"I'll be right back," said Sephiroth to the others—Harry looked up in surprise, while Angeal nodded, and Hermione and Genesis didn't even bother a glance.

"Where are you going?" asked Harry.

"He'll be back before sundown," said Genesis teasingly.

Harry threw him an unamused look.

Sephiroth slipped away before the impending argument could happen, pushing through the crowd of students Draco was not-so-subtly hiding behind. Although he didn't really have to push too much, since people tended to make way whenever he came through. Some of the other students had gotten used to his unusual looks the year before, but there was still a level of wariness.

When he saw Draco hiding behind the stone columns outside the courtyard, Sephiroth made a promise that he wouldn't laugh. Draco looked as though he was trying to emulate the detectives in the really old (and really bad) spy movies.

"What is it?" asked Sephiroth.

"You look like you're talking to a wall," said Draco snappily. "Come over here."

"My friends aren't going to eat you," Sephiroth commented, but he moved behind the column anyway.

Draco looked decidedly uncomfortable, and despite having called Sephiroth over, he didn't seem to have all his thoughts ordered. His eyes seemed to keep traveling up to the mess of hair piled on Sephiroth's head.

"Does my hair bother you?" asked Sephiroth, only half-joking, reaching a hand to to one of the strands that slipped out and hung by his collar.

"Wha—no, that's not why—" Draco visibly gathered his mental energy. "This is serious. Something's been bothering me since the start of school and—well, I'm not warning you or anything, so don't let it get to your head."

Sephiroth didn't know what would be getting to his head in the first place. He nodded anyway.

"Dad sent me a letter saying things were going to change here, at Hogwarts," said Draco. "I don't know what it means, he won't tell me anything else. I just know Hogwarts isn't the same as it used to be. It's dangerous now."

"It was pretty dangerous before," said Sephiroth.

Draco's eye twitched, and Sephiroth knew he was remembering the Forbidden Forest detention and Norbert the very illegal dragon, not to mention the troll during Halloween.

"I don't know anything concrete," said Draco, admirably pushing back his irritation. Sephiroth noted he was getting better at that. "I'm not doing this because of stupid sentiment or anything—just don't go out after dark. I know your thickheaded brother—"

"Harry's not thickheaded," said Sephiroth.

"Your reckless brother—and don't even try denying it," said Draco, and continued before Sephiroth could interrupt. "He likes sneaking around after curfew, he did it all the time last year—and yes I know all about it—"

Sephiroth shut his mouth with an audible click.

"Don't do anything like that this year," said Draco. "Well, I'd prefer it if you didn't sneak out after dark _any_ year, but why listen to me? Let's go along with Mr. Perfect Po—"

"Do you have anything else you wanted to say?" asked Sephiroth, before Draco could insult his brother again.

The look on Draco's face might have been slightly remorseful, but Sephiroth figured he was probably just deluding himself. When Draco said nothing in return, Sephiroth suppressed a sigh and went to leave.

"See you later," said Sephiroth, even though he was fairly sure they wouldn't.

"Wait!" Draco's face was twisted up with reluctance and something akin to worry. "Are you a pureblood? I don't remember you saying anything about your parents. Crescent sounds noble enough—"

Sephiroth would have been flattered, had Draco not sounded as though he was trying to convince himself.

"I never knew my parents," Sephiroth replied, and he was a little unnerved by the way Draco's face fell. "Harry found me."

"Found you? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said," Sephiroth grumbled sourly, bewildered as to why Draco seemed to so frantic about the topic of blood. "I've heard people talking about blood purity before—what's that even mean?"

"A pureblood is someone who comes from a long family line of wizards," said Draco. "A noble family, in my case. You . . . really don't know? You've got absolutely no idea?"

"For the last time, _no_ , I don't," said Sephiroth, slightly annoyed at the reminder of yet another thing he didn't know about his own past. "Why is any of this important?"

Draco gave a start, as if Sephiroth's words surprised him, and turned to make his retreat.

"It's not important—just do as I said and don't sneak around after curfew," Draco said as he shouldered his bag, which he had rested on the ground before Sephiroth walked over. "I've got to go—my class is starting soon."

With that, he left. Sephiroth watched as he disappeared into the castle, quite certain Draco didn't have another class anytime soon.

"Not important," Sephiroth scoffed. At the very least, it would give Harry something other than Quidditch to think about.

Sephiroth drew to a complete halt. If he planned on telling Harry about Draco's warning, that meant he would have to tell Harry about _Draco_ telling the warning. Knowing Harry, he would also probably sniff out that Sephiroth was keeping something else to himself—the fact he ran into Draco in Knockturn Alley, to be exact—and he would want Sephiroth to explain.

Harry would be stormy for the next week and that didn't even begin to cover what Genesis might do.

Telling them would be nothing short of painful.

* * *

 **A/N: I know I've said this before, but I adore Draco. And Colin. He's coming in the next chapter XD This chapter is cutting it close in terms of lateness, sorry about that... I got a late start today (and then I baked cookies, so yeah).**

 **Guest: I actually forgot to write an omake last chapter..and this chapter. XD A blacksmith!Zack omake sounds pretty funny though ;D As for Aerith talking to Lily and James, that's a really good idea... I had a oneshot related to Edelweiss planned and I may add elements of this to it. I have no idea when I'll get around to writing it, though, so...ah, don't expect it anytime soon? XD (See, this is reverse psychology, since I have a habit of doing the opposite of what I say when it comes to stuff like this. Hopefully that means it won't take me all year).**

 **Thanks for all the favorites, follows, and reviews!**

 **Until next week~**


	8. Chapter 8

08

Every single plan Sephiroth formed to tell his friends about Draco's warning, without setting them off into an angry tirade, was lost the moment he rejoined them in the courtyard. He really shouldn't have been shocked it was Genesis who managed to wreck his train of thought.

"Hey," said Genesis when he noticed Sephiroth had returned. He nodded toward a small, blond boy Sephiroth recognized from the Sorting Ceremony. "You're not the shortest person here anymore!"

The scuffle lasted about ten seconds and ended with Genesis on the ground, arms locked behind his back, held in place by Sephiroth. He might have been smaller than the others, but it was (probably) only age and within a couple years, he would (hopefully) be taller than the rest of them. Or at least at eye-level with them.

" _Get off!"_ Genesis snarled, trying and failing to twist around and break free. He stopped squirming when Sephiroth gave his arm a dangerous tug.

"Face your punishment with dignity!" Sephiroth was thoroughly fed up of every single joke, comment, and jab that Genesis—or anyone else—had thrown at him.

"Over my dead— _owowow—_ Angeal, why are you just standing there?!"

"Sephiroth, stop being so dramatic," said Angeal with a longsuffering sigh. "Genesis, stop antagonizing Sephiroth."

"You didn't tell him to get off me!" Genesis protested, his voice muffled due to his face being pressed into the ground.

Angeal seemed to have gone deaf to Genesis's words, so Harry took pity on him.

"Seph, get off of Genesis," he said.

"But, Harry—"

"Don't 'Harry' me," said Harry, casting him a disapproving look that he had to have picked up from Angeal, judging by its effectiveness.

Sephiroth clambered off Genesis's back, who scrambled to his feet and threw Sephiroth a glare that promised vengeance. He would have been more worried—because Genesis was clever and vicious, and he would definitely find a way to get back at him mercilessly—but he remembered what he intended to tell them in the first place.

While it was baffling, Draco's warning wasn't something that they could afford to ignore. Especially considering their first year at Hogwarts had proved exactly how dangerous things could get. If there was the slightest chance that there was a new enemy, even stronger than the last one, learning exactly what was happening inside the castle was prudent. So was convincing Harry that going to the professors was a good idea, because last time they tried to take things into their own hands, it didn't go well. (Although, they had tried to go to Professor McGonagall, but she hadn't believed them in the slightest—with any luck they might be more inclined to believe Sephiroth and his friends more.)

Rubbing the stiffness from his joints, Genesis was the first to notice Sephiroth's change of mood, cocking a questioning eyebrow.

"What were you doing over there anyway?" asked Harry suddenly, a little paranoid.

"Actually, about that—" Sephiroth started, but he was interrupted by the untimely arrival of the boy Genesis compared Sephiroth to only a few minutes ago.

The boy was small, even shorter than himself—something Sephiroth noticed with far more brightness than was strictly appropriate—and had curly blond hair. His eyes were wide and gray, fixated on Harry with a gleam that was nothing short of awestruck.

"A fanboy," Genesis mumbled sourly.

"I'm—I'm Colin Creevey," said the boy, edging away from Genesis with a slightly frightened look. Sephiroth would have been amused if he wasn't confused as to why Colin was afraid of Genesis. It would have made sense if Colin was afraid of himself—he was strange in just about every way, and he all but pummeled Genesis minutes before—but Genesis was fairly normal at first sight.

Right up until he started spewing fire and enacting impromptu sparring sessions with absolutely no warning whatsoever, but that was only after knowing him awhile.

"I'm in Gryffindor, too," Colin was saying, standing directly in front of Harry with a shy smile. His voice kept faltering and giving out with each attempt at asking a question, rethinking his words halfway through speaking them. "D'you think—would it be all right if—can I have a picture?"

Colin clutched onto an old-looking Muggle camera, holding it up to his face for emphasis. He peered around the side imploringly.

"A picture?"

Sephiroth could almost hear the words echoing in Harry's head over and over, completely bewildered by Colin's question.

"So I can prove I've met you!" Colin lowered the camera back to his chest. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead—"

He was definitely a fanboy. Sephiroth glanced at Harry, and then around them, seeking out an excuse to leave. Something about Colin made the short hairs on the back of his neck raise up in pure fear, an instinct that survived through multiple generations and was almost certainly tied to the topic of _fans_. He noticed Angeal and Genesis shifting from foot to foot with an equal amount of nervousness, and Genesis was clutching onto his copy a _Loveless_ a little harder than usual.

"—and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film with the right potion, the pictures'll move—"

A pause for a breath.

"—It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it, either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him—"

Colin could talk—and talk—and talk even more. His eyes were shining with excitement, chattering on and on to Harry about his father and his home, the pictures he loved taking, and how he wanted to take as many as possible to share his experience at Hogwarts with everyone back at his home.

Despite Colin's energetic personality, it was a rather good idea. Sephiroth could imagine Zack would be overjoyed to see pictures of a magic school, and Aerith would love the greenhouses. She had already asked about their herbology class, and actual pictures would be better than words. It also made him curious as to what part of Hogwarts Cloud would appreciate the most.

The hole in the idea was that he didn't have a camera—although Zack had made noises about sending himself and Harry phones. He didn't know how they would function around magic, though. That, and he was slightly afraid that Zack might blow up his inbox with instant messages. Having Colin develop some pictures would work for the time being. He considered asking Colin, but saw the deadened look on Harry's face and decided to wait until later.

"—maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you?" said Colin. "And then, could you sign it?"

If this went on much longer, Sephiroth was afraid Harry might pitch himself off the main bridge into Hogwarts, straight into the abyss.

"My, my—I see time hasn't made you any humbler. Hasn't it, Potter?"

Sephiroth turned, mildly surprised to see a Slytherin girl standing there. He recognized her, something about her wide, stubby nose and sightly bulging eyes ringing an old bell in his mind. It made him think of Potions, because the Gryffindors had Double Potions with the Slytherins the previous year. If he remembered correctly, the first person he was partnered with was this girl. And she had dumped an ingredient into his first potion that made painful boils erupt over his hands, burning out one of his eyes. (It healed up perfectly fine, but still—it was a rather painful experience).

For the life of him, he still couldn't remember her name.

"Signed photos?" said the Slytherin girl, her voice pitched at just the right decibel to carry, without being a shout. It drew the attention of a couple students around them. "What's next? Merchandise?"

"Parkinson," said Genesis without sparing her a single glance, "go bark up another tree."

"I'm not signing photos," snapped Harry. "Go away."

Colin, owning up to his sorting into Gryffindor, placed himself directly in front of Parkinson. She was accompanied by Millicent Bulstrode, who scared even Sephiroth a little. He was fairly certain she was even bigger than Crabbe and Goyle, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she regularly took the magical variant of steroids. Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, she didn't seem entirely mindless. The look of exasperation on her face was almost similar to Angeal's when Genesis went out of his way to annoy people.

"You're just jealous," said Colin, his hands clamped around his camera protectively.

As brace as his attempt might have been, it merely served to give Parkinson material to throw back at them.

"There's absolutely nothing to be jealous of," she sneered. "Signed pictures are hardly special. Are you fancying yourself as Lockhart's pupil?"

She looked mildly disgusted by her own words, and Sephiroth realized she and Bulstrode were most likely a few of the only girls in the school who were disenchanted by Lockhart. That fact was drowned under the part where she insulted his brother.

"You—" he seethed, taking a half-step forward.

"Although," she said loudly, "if he does have merchandise, he might be able to throw the Weasley family some table scraps." She gave a nasty smile. "If anyone could use the pity, it's them."

Genesis's fists started to smoke, but thanks to Mrs. Weasley buying him fireproof gloves, the sparks didn't melt through the leather.

"I don't care who you are," he said furiously, "girl or not—I will _burn_ you—"

"How brave," said Parkinson dryly. "I came here with my opinion on signed pictures and you want to send me to the hospital. Are all blood-traitors so violent, or is it just an outsider thing?"

Ron jumped to his feet, going for his wand—Angeal stopped him. When he turned to Parkinson, his face had darkened. There was something frightening about Angeal, who was so mild-mannered most of the time, when he got angry.

" _Get lost_."

She probably would have left—Sephiroth expected her to, going off the Slytherin's prided tradition of self-preservation—but several upper year Slytherins had migrated into the area and were watching keenly. There was a wavering, but hard, glint in her eyes. Sephiroth was positive that she was trying to prove something, and that her sudden drive to disturb their peace wasn't random.

"I do feel for those without money," said Parkinson, visibly keeping herself from running when Genesis's fists burst into flames—so much for the gloves being fireproof. Her eyes flickered over to Sephiroth, and he tensed. "Although if I were to sell pictures of anyone, it wouldn't be _Potter_."

Harry and Angeal both moved—Genesis was already summoning a ball of fire—and Sephiroth was trying to figure out what she jabbed at. Millicent Bulstrode lunged forward to throw herself in front of Parkinson.

Hermione closed _Voyages with Vampires_ loud enough for the entire courtyard to reverberate the sound, hissing a loud, " _Look out!_ "

Angeal and Harry barely avoided tripping over each other in their attempt to stop their momentum, while Genesis drew short when he noticed Bulstrode had jumped in front of the attack. Sephiroth followed Hermione's train of sight to find out what caused her to stop them, and almost groaned in dismay.

Pushing through the crowd of students who had turned up to witness the latest commotion was Gilderoy Lockhart. His robes weren't quite as immaculate as they were several hours ago, creased from his unexpected nap on the castle grounds. The moment he saw them in the middle of the courtyard, the bleary confusion in his eyes cleared and he livened up. Sephiroth wished he had punched Lockhart a little harder—he should have aimed for a day-long knock out.

And then Sephiroth remembered it was technically a teacher he knocked out, and after the car fiasco, he could easily be expelled. Although, giving how the professors had acted around Lockhart, none of them were particularly happy about him being in Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall, who had yet to give them their detentions, would probably just take a couple points from Gryffindor and maybe give them an encouraging smile.

With any luck, Lockhart wouldn't remember anything.

"What's all this, what's all this?" said Lockhart, straightening the cerulean hat on his golden locks, which he had recently combed. Sephiroth knew for a fact Lockhart's hair wasn't that neat after he was punched and left unconscious. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

"No one is—" said Sephiroth, almost stuttering in his haste, but Lockhart didn't seem to care about what he had to say.

"Shouldn't have asked!" laughed Lockhart, cutting through the courtyard to pull Harry in a one-armed hug. "We meet again, Harry! I, ah, was busy for awhile—preparing for class, serious work, it is—very busy, indeed."

Sephiroth would have felt a lot more triumph over Lockhart's faltering memory, had he not overstepped his boundaries around Harry once again. It was as if Lockhart simply didn't know the meaning of the words 'personal space.'

He caught a glimpse of Parkinson and Bulstrode leaving quickly, using the distraction to their advantage. Genesis glared at them, his fury unabated, and Sephiroth couldn't blame him for it. The Weasley vault was dangerously close to empty and it was definitely a sore spot for them all. Even so, Lockhart's being in the area took priority at the moment—or, more accurately, coming up with an excuse to escape.

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," Lockhart urged—Sephiroth didn't know when Colin had introduced himself to Lockhart—sending him one of his award-winning smiles. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you."

Sephiroth accidentally-on-purpose trod on Colin's foot as he walked by him, stopping him from taking a step forward with his camera.

When Lockhart spotted Sephiroth, his face tightened.

"Oh, right behind your brother as ever, I see!" he said, and his grin was decidedly faker than the rest. "I suppose you could fit into the picture! The more the merrier, after all!"

Sephiroth was beginning to suspect that Lockhart already knew who had knocked him out.

"Harry doesn't want a picture," said Sephiroth irritably, after finding he couldn't bring himself to care if Lockhart remembered or not. "He doesn't want fame, nor has he ever."

"Now, speaking for another person is never a good habit," said Lockhart, sounding gently reprimanding. Sephiroth's insides burned with outrage. "Your brother has his own likes and dislikes—and his own life. A picture will be good for all of us!"

He beamed at the crowd of students.

Sephiroth nearly shrank back at the looks he was receiving from them, all but trembling from anger at the words coming out of Lockhart's mouth. He dared to imply that Sephiroth was trying to direct his brother's life in any kind of way—the only thing he had ever done was try to ensure Harry's safety—which he had never done, nor would he ever.

Oblivious to Sephiroth, who was seething quietly and aiming all his ire at Lockhart, Colin snapped a couple pictures with his camera. The bell hadn't stopped ringing before Harry yanked himself free of Lockhart, and Sephiroth dragged him out of grabbing range.

To Sephiroth's dismay, Lockhart followed them into the castle, looping an arm around Harry's shoulders again to direct him inside. Lashing out at him a second time would have been wonderful, but it was impossible now that they were in the castle. They were surrounded by Lockhart fans, with another professor no doubt behind each corner.

Genesis and Angeal had reluctantly followed them, staying a good distance away so they weren't seen. Sephiroth wanted to call them out on their cowardice, but really—if it wasn't Harry on the line, he would have done the same thing.

They were friends and they'd forgive him for saving his skin when it came to Lockhart, but Harry was his brother. Plus, if it was Genesis in Harry's position, Lockhart would be on fire.

"A word to the wise, Harry," Lockhart was saying, leading them along the corridors to Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey. If he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself so much."

"I'm not setting myself up," said Harry blankly.

"He's really not," said Sephiroth, tugging at Harry's sleeve, hoping Lockhart would take a hint.

He didn't, though. Instead, Lockhart patted Harry's shoulder comfortingly, as if he understood everything that went through Harry's head.

"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible—looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be fra—"

Angeal grabbed Sephiroth's arm, startling him badly until he realized he had moved forward at Lockhart, his fists balled so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"He's insufferable, but you _will_ be expelled if you attack him here," said Angeal, placating. "Just endure it a little longer and we'll be done with him."

"Until his next class," mumbled Genesis.

"Really," said Hermione, red-faced—she was slightly winded from running to keep up with them—and readjusting her pack, which was slipping off her shoulder. "He's only trying to impart some wisdom."

"Harry doesn't need it," said Sephiroth. "Angeal, let go! I'm not going to attack him."

Angeal looked doubtful, but finally released Sephiroth's arm. When he didn't immediately lunge to beat the stuffing out of Lockhart, Angeal relaxed a little.

They couldn't have arrived at Lockhart's classroom any sooner. Harry scurried away from Lockhart, making a dive for one of the back seats and stacked all of Lockhart's books into a tower. He proceeded to slouch so that his face was completely hidden by the books, flushed from pure embarrassment and scowling darkly. Sephiroth took a seat next to him. When Ron turned up a few minutes later, he sat at the desk on Harry's other side.

Ron repeated Harry's actions with his own books, and then turned to grin teasingly at Harry.

"You could've fried an egg on your face. You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

The feeling Sephiroth experienced at that moment could have been labeled as _triggered_.

"Over my _dead body_ ," he hissed at Ron, piling his own books up and thumping the last one on top with more effort than necessary.

"Shut up before he hears you," snarled Genesis, jabbing a thumb at Lockhart, who was fiddling with his desk and setting up pots of flowers, vases painted with his own likeness.

Hermione chose a seat as close to the front as she could manage—Genesis propped _Loveless_ up against his stack of books and did his best to ignore the class as a whole. The rest of the Gryffindor students rushed in, a mix of morbidly curious and legitimately excited. Sephiroth wished he had remained deaf after Mrs. Weasley's Howler, because the books only blocked his line of vision. Unfortunately, Lockhart was good at speaking loudly and Sephiroth couldn't make himself stop hearing.

"Me—Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

Genesis snorted.

Sephiroth rested his head on his forearms, wondering if he could fall asleep. He discarded the idea without hesitation. There was no way he could actually sleep right now, or even zone off as he usually did when people talked too long. He was so enraged at Lockhart at the moment, he couldn't escape into the calmer refuge of his inner thoughts. It would have been nice for Aerith to pull him into that inner world, or for a fainting spell to happen—right now.

Nothing happened, of course.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books—well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in—"

Sephiroth didn't bother holding back a groan, burying his face in his arms. He hadn't even cracked one of them open, let alone read the entire series and retained it. Genesis, noticing his reaction, waved to get his attention. Having thoroughly fallen into malaise, Sephiroth didn't bother turning his head.

A ball of wadded parchment smacked into his head a second later and Sephiroth found the strength to glare at Genesis. He snatched up the parchment, reading: _Just wing it_.

Lockhart passed by his desk, handing out the quiz paper—when his back was turned, Sephiroth peered around his books to get a look at Hermione. She was hunched over her quiz and going off her baffling (and plainly horrifying) infatuation of Lockhart, it was unlikely she would be any help.

Resigning himself to his first failed class, Sephiroth skimmed down the questions on the paper. His eye twitched. Every single question—from _34._ _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's ideal vacation spot?_ to _53._ _When did Gilderoy Lockhart receive his first kiss and what was his reaction—_ revolved around some mundane part of Lockhart's life. Sephiroth didn't think he could bring himself to care about Lockhart's love life, even under the threat of death. On second thought, death sounded preferable to Lockhart's class at the moment.

There was a flash of red in his peripheral vision, and Sephiroth glanced over to find Genesis with his hand in the air, looking bored stiff.

"Yes, Mr. . . .?" Lockhart trailed off when he realized he didn't know Genesis's name.

"What does your favorite color have to do with defense against the dark arts?" asked Genesis bluntly. "And why does your quiz about the books revolve solely around you?"

Lockhart looked surprised by the line of questioning for moment, before smiling widely and saying, "The quiz is just to see what you've taken from the books, nothing more!"

"There isn't a question about locations, spells, theories, or your so-called quick thinking _strategies_ on here," said Genesis, "only personal information and personal opinions. Number three doesn't even count as a quiz question—no doubt each person here who is your . . . _fan—"_ Genesis said the word as if it was poison "—has their own idea of which is your _greatest achieve_ _ment_ _to date_."

"Yes, well—" Lockhart's smile seemed plastered onto his face. "It's merely a casual quiz—nothing challenging yet! It's only the first day of school, after all. No need to have you on the advanced stuff, or even the intermediate stuff, yet."

He threw a meaningful wink at the class, tapping the thicker tomes on his desk.

Genesis made a sound of annoyance and rolled his eyes.

When they were all finished with the quiz, Lockhart collected the papers up. He hemmed and hawed as he went over them, pointing out things the class got wrong. The more questions gotten wrong, the greater the hope Sephiroth had for the students of Hogwarts. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to waste space in their brain to know why Lockhart preferred triple even numbers, such as two-hundred and twenty-two.

Sephiroth had done the entire quiz with "Yes" or "No" answers.

What was Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color? Yes.

"Hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—"

Sephiroth bristled when Lockhart glanced at him, holding his gaze as if trying to portray a message. He dug his fingers into the desk hard enough to leave scrapes in the wood.

Lockhart flipped through several more pages, pausing on one of them to gave a proud smile.

"Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions—good girl!" He gave Hermione's paper a full once-over. "In fact—full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione was scarlet as she lifted her hand up.

The temperature in the room seemed to be heating up rapidly. Sephiroth looked over at Genesis to find him glowering, and didn't blame him for it. After Lockhart was finally done rambling about anything but Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sephiroth was going to have a very long conversation with Hermione about people who were not to be trusted. He was also going to question her terrible judge of character. (Sephiroth ignored the fact he was also a terrible judge of character and had allowed himself to be dragged through Knockturn Alley because of it.)

Several of the other girls in the class were giving Hermione jealous looks, while the boys were either laughing or remained disgusted. Or, in Genesis's case, they looked murderous. He was annoyed enough that he hadn't flipped passed the first act of _Loveless,_ so he had to be truly aggravated.

Lockhart awarded Hermione ten points and claimed he was finally moving onto official defense matters, something Sephiroth highly doubted. He treated the entire classroom as though it was a stage, which was exactly what he did in Flourish and Blotts, so anything Lockhart had planned would be nothing more than exaggerations and pomp.

He placed a large cage, draped with a blanket, onto his desk and pulled his wand from its holster.

If Lockhart thought it was dangerous, Sephiroth doubted he had anything to worry about. He laid his head on his forearms again and closed his eyes, hoping to drift off into sleep.

"Now—be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that your remain calm."

Sephiroth couldn't managed even a light doze. He was still burning on the inside from every overbearing thing Lockhart had done, from his words to his actions. Restless and hating Lockhart even more for it, Sephiroth peered around his books again to see exactly what Lockhart was over-dramatizing this time around. He caught Harry doing the same.

"I must ask you not to scream," Lockhart was saying. His eyes flitted from face to face, pausing to let it sink in. "It might provoke them."

The class tensed—Sephiroth thought the cage seemed small for a creature that was supposed to be dangerous—and Lockhart tore the blanket off.

A couple students jumped back slightly—only to immediately look embarrassed that they did so.

The creatures were not quite the size of the gnomes Sephiroth helped toss like baseballs, and were a bright blue. Sephiroth had an uncomfortable flashback of blue skin and cringed slightly. Their wide eyes were inky black, their high-pitched voices drilling into Sephiroth's head and making him wish he had kept the earmuffs from Professor Sprout's class. A couple of the creatures were making rude hand gestures and sticking their tongues out at people.

"Yes," said Lockhart with a flourish of his wand. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

Sephiroth sighed and let his head thump on his desk, his arms outstretched limply over the sides. He heard Seamus break into snickers.

"Yes?" said Lockhart, sounding very curt.

"Well, they're not—they're not very—dangerous, are they?" Seamus replied, struggling against the urge to laugh.

Sephiroth would have laughed as well, if he wasn't so annoyed. They learned about Cornish pixies last year.

"Don't be so sure—" Sephiroth looked around his books as Lockhart shook his finger at Seamus, a gesture that made most of the class feel a flare of irritation. It was one of those motions that, no matter the person doing it, made everyone cringe. "Devilishly tricky little blighters they can be!"

Lockhart turned back to the cage of pixies, keeping his wand held in front of him as he reached around to the latched door. Sephiroth grabbed his books and pulled them closer to his face, hoping Lockhart wasn't about to try for some hands-on work with the creatures. Even Gilderoy Lockhart, for all his bravado and forced heroic demeanor, couldn't have been foolish enough to try something like that.

"Let's see what you make of them!"

As it turned out, he was just that foolish.

The moment Lockhart swung the cage door open, the pixies gushed out, instantly targeting the students for their mischief. Sephiroth made a dive for under his desk, throwing a book at a pixie that surged at his head—the pixie turned is attention toward Lavender Brown, dumping a bottle of ink over her hair, laughing and making rude faces as she shrieked and ran. A small army of pixies hovered by Lockhart's long, grand desk and flipped it over as a group effort, sending papers and books flying to the floor, all of his framed pictures of himself shattering from the impact.

Sephiroth abandoned his safe spot under the desk to jump at Neville, who was swarmed by pixies and lifted bodily off of his chair—he hissed as a pixie giggled and tore at his hair, yanking it from the bun Hermione had painstakingly piled it up into, and swatted at the pixie. It dodged his blow and blew him a raspberry, and then screeched when a book sailed by its head.

"Th-thanks," said Neville, wide-eyed, after they took refuge under a desk. "I don't know why it's always me, though . . ."

Sephiroth patted his shoulder in a way he hoped was comforting. He wanted to say it could be worse, but—a pixie tore through one of Lockhart's books, scattering pages around it like confetti. All things considered, Sephiroth decided a moment later, it could have been much worse. At least he had the chance to see Lockhart lose his wand and make an ungraceful lunge for his upturned desk, cowering behind it.

A crash shook the desk Sephiroth and Neville were hiding under as the chandelier fell, the pixies fluttering around it, their tinny little voices cheering in triumph. In the desk next to him, Genesis had filled his palm with fire and was being held back by Angeal, who clearly didn't want Genesis to burn the classroom down. It was probably a good thing he was stopped, because Sephiroth highly doubted the pixies would be all too bothered by the classroom going up in flames. He bet they would be more inclined to celebrate.

Ten pairs of small hands wound their way into Sephiroth's hair, tugging upward harshly—another pair of pixies turned his desk over and he found himself rising into the air before he could so much as blink. He reached to grab a pixie and throw it—Neville tackled his torso and they both tumbled to the ground, the pixies let out startled cries.

Sephiroth ripped one of the nasty creatures out of his hair, wincing as the pixie came away with a clump of silver, and threw it at the window as hard as he could. The window shattered, sending glass falling inside and out of the classroom, and the pixie allowed itself to tip out the window, whooping with delight.

"They're insane," said Sephiroth flatly, pulling the desk back over his head and feeling somewhat like a turtle for it.

Neville, who was shaking in fear, could only nod silently.

They were saved by the bell. Sephiroth rushed for the door with everyone else, quickly swooping by Harry's desk to tug him along—

Lockhart seemed to materialize in front of him, hair tousled in a way that wasn't gallant at all, and tried for his best toothy grin.

"Well, I'll ask you six to just nip the rest of them back into their cage," he said, and then slammed the door shut as he escaped, leaving them inside.

"Oh, _hell no_ ," snarled Genesis, kicking aside his desk and marching toward the door. "He can deal with his own mess."

A pixie clawed at Sephiroth's face, leaving tiny scratches under his eye, and he wholeheartedly agreed with Genesis's sentiments.

"He wants us to have hands-on experience," Hermione protested as they migrated toward the door without a second thought. "You can't ignore an order from a teacher!"

"Watch me!" Genesis bit out.

"Hermione," said Harry, sounding at wit's end, "he didn't have a clue what he was doing—"

"Rubbish," she interrupted. "You've read his books—look at all those amazing things he's done—"

If Harry and Ron felt anything near what Sephiroth did, they more than likely hadn't read the books. He wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't even cracked them open, because Sephiroth hadn't. Somehow he could already tell, just by looking at the covers, that it was going to be a cycle of Gilderoy Lockhart showing up and saving the day—over and over again—while the other characters looked on in a general sense of uselessness.

"He says he's done," said Ron under his breath.

Hermione heard.

"His books wouldn't sell if they were fake—"

"Tell that to every single fantasy novel that has ever been published," said Genesis as he pulled the door open. He irritably flicked a pixie that attempted to zoom outside the classroom.

"Whatever the case," said Hermione, huffing in a way that informed them she didn't think for a second Lockhart was anything but what he claimed to be, "we can't leave the classroom like this. Professor Lockhart—"

"Is an idiot, and I am leaving," said Genesis, stepping out the door. He peered back inside—and Sephiroth knew he was purposefully trying to be rude—and said, "Have a wonderful time collecting those pixies!"

Hermione looked frustrated to the point of tears, while Angeal mumbled something about dragging Genesis back and disappeared. Sephiroth was torn between leaving the class with Genesis and staying to help her, as she obviously had no intention of abandoning her task. He wasn't overly fond of the idea of doing a single thing Lockhart told him to, but he didn't want to leave Hermione alone. (And he highly doubted Angeal was going to succeed in convincing Genesis to return).

He glanced at Harry and noticed the other was resigned, hunting down the pixies with his keen, Seeker-trained eyes.

"I can't believe we're doing this," grumbled Ron roughly five minutes later.

"It's only the right thing," said Hermione, looking happier than she had all day.

"For you, maybe."

Sephiroth pulled away a pixie that had tried to nest in his hair, wishing he had just dashed out of the classroom with the rest of the Gryffindors.

It was only then that Sephiroth finally— _finally—_ remembered the warning that Draco had given him before the class. Between Lockhart's pompous attitude and the pixies' attempts at turning his hair into mini friendship bracelets, Draco's words had been thoroughly blown out of Sephiroth's mind. He supposed it was to be expected that, when the warning finally came back to him, Genesis and Angeal were gone. Sephiroth really didn't like repeating himself, but there was no telling what might distract him from the topic next.

Telling Hermione first would act for a good buffer against the rest of his friends', and brother's, dislike of Draco. However, that also meant they would have tell Genesis and Angeal separately, which meant two enduring the brooding annoyance twice. Sephiroth sourly thought that there was something wrong with the fact he was more hesitant to tell Genesis and Harry about a warning from Draco Malfoy, than he was informing them about their being reincarnated.

Hermione, who had three immobilized pixies held in each hand, immediately detected his indecision. It helped that he had come to a sudden stop right in front of the pixies' cage, hanging onto one of the creatures by its wings.

"Sephiroth?" she prompted.

Harry was watching him in equal parts curiosity and worry. If he managed to word everything right, then Harry might focus more on the warning instead of the person who told it. Sephiroth could hope, at least.

"So, I spoke with Malfoy earlier today—"

"You spoke with _Malfoy_?" Ron wrinkled his nose. "What did _he_ want?"

"Is that where you went?" said Harry sharply, straightening up. "You never did say what that was all about."

If they would just let him speak, they might find out a thing or two about what happened while Sephiroth had left. Harry and Ron were eyeing Sephiroth like wary hawks, and that was the exact reason he had felt reluctant to tell them anything.

"Yes, he was warning me—"

"What? He doesn't like anyone not "pureblood" being in school, so he's warning you to back off?" said Ron, leaping to startling and impressively inaccurate conclusions.

"Um, no—"

"Then what was he saying?" asked Harry.

"Would you two lay off and let him speak?" said Hermione, shoving the pixies in her hands into the cage and slamming the door shut. "I think that's all of them."

"Oh, good—" Ron looked relieved for a moment, before turning suspicious again. "But what did Malfoy want?"

Sephiroth sighed, regretting everything he had said and done in the past three minutes.

"He said Hogwarts is dangerous." At their disbelieving looks, he added, "More dangerous than usual, I guess. He was warning me to not go out after dark anymore. . . . I think he said his father sent a letter about it, too. A change at Hogwarts."

"So, Lucius Malfoy is up to something?" Ron summarized.

"That's not what I said—"

"Why would Malfoy warn you about something his Dad's up to?" said Harry, looking baffled.

"Why are you assuming Draco's father's doing anything at all?!" Sephiroth finally burst out, tired of being interrupted with speculation he was entirely certain was wrong.

Harry and Ron stared at him blankly.

"It's _Malfoy_ ," said Ron, as if everything should have been obvious. "If his Dad sent him a letter, it was probably to warn _him_ , not us. I guess Malfoys care for Malfoys and all. For some reason Malfoy decided to tell you, though—I dunno _why—_ "

"That's not important," said Hermione, cutting across him swiftly. "If Malfoy _was_ being warned by his father, then what's about to happen _is_ going to be very dangerous. He was probably worried about his son."

"Malfoys care for Malfoys," Ron repeated. "But really, why _did_ he—"

"Ron, stay focused!" snapped Hermione. "Honestly, you have the attention span of a sparrow!"

She turned to Sephiroth, who resisted the urge to straighten.

"Did he say anything else?" she asked eagerly. "Any little detail might be important."

Sephiroth had figured Draco asking him about his blood purity was random and even a little awkward, but Hermione had that glint in her eyes when she really wanted to know something. He knew better than to try and keep a secret from her.

"He was asking about my family," he said.

Ron rolled his eyes.

"So it was a blood purity thing," he scoffed. "Should have known."

"Sorry," said Harry, sounding very confused. "I still don't quite understand. Why's the whole blood purity thing so important?"

Sephiroth, knowing as much about that topic as Harry, wanted to know the same thing. He might have read into Draco's expressions too much, but he had seemed almost distraught to hear Sephiroth was anything less than from a noble family.

"It's important to families like the Malfoys," said Ron. "They think anything less than "pureblood" is rotten or something. It's stupid—most wizards and witches are half-bloods or less these days. We'd have died out, otherwise."

Hermione, who had fallen into deep thought, finally said, "I suppose that means whatever Malfoy's father warned him about, it has something to do with blood purity."

"It does?" said Sephiroth. "Maybe he was just curious about my blood?"

Blood wasn't something often on his mind (mostly because it brought up a plethora of bad memories), but now that they were speaking about blood, he realized he didn't know his blood type. He wondered if blood types were important in the grand scheme of blood purity.

"That's a very random question for passing curiosity," said Hermione, brushing his comment aside. "No, it was a valid concern for him."

Sephiroth gave her a flat look. He wanted to know how she could sound so entirely sure of herself, considering she wasn't there to listen to Draco speak. Even if she was doubtlessly correct, because Draco's attitude while asking that question had been anything but casual. (Then again, Draco was hardly anything more than tense and defensive about Sephiroth, so he couldn't tell if it was just the usual, or something to worry about).

"I'd love to get my hands on that letter," said Hermione with a sigh.

"Yeah, but in all seriousness," said Ron, "why did Malfoy bother to warn—"

"Oh, who even cares?!"

* * *

 **A/N: ...I have too much fun writing Colin. He just never stops talking and I've MET people like that, so. It's fun. XD Also I adore Sephiroth losing his temper over this stuff.**

 **Guest: Gilderoy Lockhart is a major creep, even more so in the books than he is in the movie. Most of the times where he's "grabbing" at Harry and Sephiroth also happen in the books-I don't even have to exaggerate that. Taking all things into consideration, overall he's a very creepy guy. I would NOT want to trust him around children.**

 **And I completely agree on Draco and Dudley-both of them have parents who, though love them, also stifle them and have never taught them discipline. Lucius Malfoy balances over-strictness towards his standards for his son, with far too much ease toward Draco's bullying and demanding. So it's a cycle of too-much/not-enough that's honestly REALLY bad for a kid's growth. I really liked seeing Dudley and Draco reforming as they got older and learned how to think for themselves, because it proved most of their issues came from their parenting. And Harry really could have held back-he also could have patched things up with Draco, because I really think most of their problems stemmed from when Harry snubbed Draco's offer of friendship. On top of that, there's absolutely no way Harry didn't hear Draco crying in the bathroom during the sixth year. Instead of charging in, he could have been a bit more tactful, but... Well, Lupin summed it up perfectly: Harry was blinded by hatred. ... Also, I love psychoanalyzing these characters to death, too. They all have their good and bad moments, and that's makes it all the more fun to analyze. :D**

 **Guest: ...Thing is, I could totally visualize Sephiroth getting sick and tired of being mistaken for a girl and doing just that. And Cloud would be like, "No no, Sephiroth that's a bad idea, DON'T." XD**

 **Thanks for all the favorites, follows and reviews! I was kinda rushed again with getting this out in time, so there might be a couple mistakes I missed. (Hopefully only a couple). I'll try to come back later and correct them.**

 **Until next week~**


	9. Chapter 9

09

There turned out to be three things Sephiroth went out of his way to avoid under any and all circumstances.

First and most importantly was Gilderoy Lockhart, who swaggered around Hogwarts as though he owned the school and throwing winks at the older students—trying to corner Harry to give him advice, and occasionally reaching out at Sephiroth, either to give him a word of encouragement, or to comment on how bitterness wouldn't do well for his popularity.

Sephiroth wanted to ask when Lockhart had gotten the assumption he liked the idea of becoming popular at all. Instead, he kept his mouth sealed shut and made an effort to dodge out of Lockhart's line of sight, because it wasn't worth getting into a conversation with him at all.

The second thing Sephiroth avoided at all costs was the mention Draco Malfoy in any way, shape, or fashion around Harry or Genesis. Ron would grumble a little and look suspicious (he still wanted to know why Draco warned Sephiroth of anything), but he didn't brood for fifteen minutes like Harry did when he found out Sephiroth met Draco in Knockturn Alley. Ron wasn't quite as paranoid as Genesis was, either. Harry and Genesis had put their heads together since that day, speculating what could possibly warrant such a grave warning.

And the third thing to avoid was much smaller than the other two, but no less insistent. Colin Creevey had become something of a major Harry Potter fanboy in the past couple days. That by itself was enough to make Sephiroth treat him as though he was inflicted with the plague, but he also seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to all things involving Harry.

Sephiroth and Harry had taken a different route to class one day, after hearing Lockhart was in the area, and Colin somehow managed to figure out where they were in time to ask for another photograph, autograph, and inquire as to Harry's health for the day. Completely ignored and glad for it, Sephiroth had made a habit of taking long and complicated paths to class just to ensure Colin didn't find them again.

He found them again.

"I think he can read minds," said Sephiroth seriously as they darted toward their next class, having finally succeeded in leaving Colin behind.

"I think he's annoying," said Harry.

Their first Charms class was disastrous, with Ron's wand rebelling against him yet again. It nearly set his desk, and all the students surrounding him, on fire—before jerking out of his hand and smacking Professor Flitwick on the forehead. Professor Flitwick had dismissed the class to head for the Hospital Wing, boils breaking out on his face.

"How's that letter coming?" asked Ron that night while they were sitting around the fire in the common room, glumly observing his taped wand.

Genesis, who had been working on a blackmail letter to his mother, shrugged.

"I sent it. She sent a letter of apology to Sephiroth and accused my claims of being dramatics." He scoffed, and then threw Sephiroth a hopeful look. "Hey, you could—"

"I'm not blackmailing your mother," said Sephiroth quickly.

"It'll be fine," said Ron before Genesis could protest. He held up his crooked wand, looking resigned but determined. "Maybe Mum'll get me a new one next year."

Sephiroth felt a stab of guilt, wondering were he to send Mrs. Weasley a letter, if she would buy Ron a new wand. He really needed it, but Sephiroth could also remember the painfully empty vault the Weasleys possessed in Gringott's. They most likely couldn't afford to buy Ron another wand.

They went to bed that night, and Sephiroth was glad the weekend had approached so quickly. The prickle of concerned had developed into full-force panic when he couldn't find Shinra anywhere, and he didn't have enough time during school days to search the grounds. He just hoped he wouldn't be spending most of the weekend scouring the grounds up and down for Shinra, or that the cat hadn't taken a stroll into the Forbidden Forest.

He didn't remember until he laid down to sleep that he had also made plans to visit Hagrid with everyone else. Harry was eager to see him again after a long summer, because it was always easy to sit and simply talk when it was with Hagrid. It would have been nice if Hagrid had found Shinra and he wouldn't have to use up the weekend looking for the cat, but he highly doubted that would happen.

Sephiroth curled up on his side, closed his eyes—and opened them what felt like seconds later, clutching onto his pillow as if it was a lifeline, snapped awake by someone moving through the dormitory. Early morning sunlight was filtering in through the windows, an army of birds chirping their happy little hearts away just outside the Gryffindor Tower.

He pulled his bed drapes to the side, peering out warily, and saw the dark silhouette of Oliver Wood heading toward Harry's bedside. Wood tripped over something that lay next to Dean Thomas's bed, sending a clatter echoing through the dorm that might as well have been an explosion, with how quiet it was moments ago.

"What are you doing?" hissed Sephiroth and he had the welcome chance of watching Wood nearly jump out of his skin in fright.

"Oh, it's you," said Wood, relieved. "I'm waking up Harry. Quidditch practice is today!"

There was a quality of brightness in his eyes that bordered on insanity when he mentioned Quidditch, already resuming his course toward Harry's bedside.

Sephiroth glanced out the window—at the rosy horizon and window blurred with condensation—and contemplated if he was willing to get out of bed and go with Harry to his practice. He still didn't trust Wood and the other members of the Quidditch team (Fred and George were alright any other day, but they were still too prone to mischief for his taste) to make sure Harry didn't wind up in the hospital. That meant getting out of bed about four hours earlier than he originally intended.

"Do you have to?" he asked Wood blearily.

Wood was already shaking Harry's shoulder, urging him to wake up and look alive, because it was time for the first Quidditch practice of the year—and he should look excited, since Oliver Wood certainly felt pumped for the Quidditch season.

Harry looked how Sephiroth felt—like death warmed over—as he lifted himself onto one elbow and glanced out the window. He was squinting heavily, fumbling around for his glasses.

"Oliver, it's the crack of dawn," said Harry, clearly wondering just why Wood would wake him at such an early hour for practice.

"Exactly!"

Sephiroth rubbing his eyes, willing the heaviness of sleep away, and wished the world made as much sense to himself as it apparently did for Wood.

"It's part of our new training program," said Wood cheerily. The other boys in the dorm were starting to stir and the incoherent mumble Genesis let out sounded very irritable. "Come on, grab your broom, and let's go. None of the other teams have started training yet, we're going to be first off the mark this year—"

Sephiroth watched with a sinking heart as Harry actually got out of bed, searching blindly for his Quidditch uniform and pulling his glasses onto his face. He still only looked half-awake and not quite sure what was happening, but apparently decided not to argue. For Sephiroth, it was all too obvious what was happening: he was leaving bed far earlier than he wanted to.

"Good man," came Wood's encouraging voice from the morning gloom. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes."

"You coming?" asked Harry after he pulled on his Quidditch robes, not even having to look to know Sephiroth was already awake.

Sephiroth sighed, dragging himself out from under his covers.

"Of course," he said.

Harry gave him a sheepishly amused look.

"You could just sleep in, you know," he said. "Nothing's going to happen. Wood'll probably just go over some new strategies and have us go on a few loops of the Pitch to warm up to flying again."

"It's fine," said Sephiroth, pulling out clothing he was fairly sure were clean and hadn't been worn already. They were wrinkled, but that had never killed anyone. "If you fall off—"

Harry eyed him flatly.

"We went over this last year," he said.

Sephiroth firmly told himself that he wasn't sulking, as they headed down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. He was just starting to feel awake and less irritable at being woken so early, when they were met with the wide gray eyes of Colin Creevey, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and looking far too alert for being awake since dawn.

"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry!" said Colin, darting up to them and giving Sephiroth a quick "Morning!" before turning back to Harry and waving something in his face. "Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you—"

Whatever was on the slip of glossy paper, Harry didn't like it. Sephiroth crept a little closer to get a look over his shoulder, but Harry quickly handed it back to Colin.

"Will you sign it?" asked Colin hopefully.

"No."

Sephiroth had never heard Harry turn something down so suddenly. Colin's face fell.

"Sorry, Colin," Harry added, "I'm in a hurry—Quidditch practice—"

That was the wrong thing to say, though. Colin's eyes lit up again with eagerness and he moved to follow Harry and Sephiroth out of the common room, clutching onto his camera with renewed excitement.

"I've never watched a Quidditch game before!" he said, giving Harry a starry-eyed look.

Harry wasn't amused.

"It'll be really boring," came Harry's borderline desperate attempt to get Colin to leave. It was an outright and bald-faced lie, since Quidditch was one of Harry's most favorite hobbies, proving how far he would go to try and lose Colin.

"You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren't you, Harry? Weren't you?" Colin babbled on as they walked down the corridors.

Sephiroth regretted leaving his bed. If he had knocked Wood unconscious, they wouldn't have to deal with this so early in the morning. There had been enough random personal affects surrounding Dean Thomas's bed that Sephiroth could have blamed the incident on his disorganization. Or it could have been left a mystery, if Sephiroth pretended to sleep through the racket. He knew there was absolutely no way Genesis and Angeal didn't wake up from Wood's entering the dormitory, after all.

"I've never flown," said Colin, keeping up with Harry's steadily increasing pace with ease. "Is is easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?"

Sephiroth opened his mouth to tell Colin that Quidditch was very dangerous and overrated, and that really, there were better things to waste one's time with—but Colin didn't seem to care very much about what he had to say.

"I don't really understand Quidditch," he pressed on, seemingly unaware of Harry's weariness and Sephiroth's mounting irritation at being interrupted. "Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?"

There was a "from several hundred feet up in the air" missing in Colin's statement. Sephiroth eyed him, waiting for Colin to plow on without waiting for either of them to get a word edgewise. When Colin paused to take a breath, Sephiroth felt a little surprised.

Harry seemed to have accepted the fact he wasn't going to shake Colin off his tail anytime soon.

"They're called Bludgers," he said, holding back a sigh. He proceeded to explain the rules of Quidditch and which Gryffindors played which roles in the game. While he was talking about Quidditch, Harry seemed to lighten up slightly. He probably would have relaxed even more, had Colin not interrupted every ten seconds with a question or comment.

"Three chaser on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goal posts—"

"That must take a lot of precision!"

"Yes—"

"And the fourth ball—"

"That's the Golden Snitch—"

As the walk to the Quidditch Pitch wore on, Sephiroth found Harry's struggling to explain the rules of Quidditch to Colin almost painful. He could tell Colin was trying to understand, nodding along and asking question upon question, eyes glowing with something akin to hero-worship. Sephiroth understood that feeling—he was hard pressed not to, considering all Harry had done for him—but he was somewhat baffled by why Colin would have so much admiration. It couldn't just be the Boy Who Lived thing.

If Colin's hero-worship did come from the Boy Who Lived moniker, then Sephiroth was going to have to crack open one of those books and see for himself just what on Earth they were writing about his brother. Going off Colin's expression alone, he was half-expecting a pair of angel wings to burst from Harry's back and a halo to spring to life above his head.

They finally arrived at the Quidditch Pitch and Harry made a run for the changing room, leaving Sephiroth outside with Colin. Now that he wasn't preoccupied by Harry, Colin seemed to notice Sephiroth's existence.

"So you're Harry's brother?" said Colin, turning wide eyes to Sephiroth.

Sephiroth felt his heart sink.

"Yes," he said cautiously.

"How did you meet him?" asked Colin, trotting beside Sephiroth as he headed toward the stands. "You're not really related, are you? You don't look very much alike. Did he actually adopt you as his brother?"

Sephiroth wasn't going to push Colin off the edge of the stands, no matter how tempting it might have seemed. He wracked his brain for any kind of answer to his questions that wasn't the truth. There was no way he was telling Colin the truth about how Harry found him.

"Is it true you're really strong?" asked Colin, leaning closer as if he could see Sephiroth's strength manifest itself outside his body.

Any answer he could think of was either a lie, or sounded too much like bragging for his liking. Sephiroth settled for pretending to suddenly go deaf.

"I heard there was this troll and you punched a crater into the ground!" said Colin, sounding all too cheerful over destruction.

"That was Genesis," said Sephiroth without a second thought. He wondered how he managed to take the blame for putting a couple cracks in the floor.

"Yeah, but who's stronger?" said Colin very seriously. "You or Genesis Weasley?"

"Angeal is strong, too," Sephiroth pointed out, feeling defensive for reasons he didn't quite comprehend. A moment later, he was forced to drag his thoughts to a complete halt and question why he was talking to Colin in the first place.

"D'you think Genesis's fire magic would trump your strength?" said Colin.

"Standing in fire would be painful," said Sephiroth before he could stop himself. He glanced down at the field as Harry and the rest of the team walked out, hopeful that Colin would be distracted by Harry.

"Are you a metamorphmagus?" asked Colin, reaching out to poke at Sephiroth's hair. "Did you change your hair color to silver?"

"No," snapped Sephiroth, fed up with Colin's constant stream of questions. "It's natural."

"Oh, so you're an albino?"

Sephiroth resisted the urge to cradle his face in his hands.

He had never regretted coming to one of Harry's practices more than he did that morning, with Colin as a never-ending chatter in his ear and lethargy from waking up too early weighing him down. To top it off, he still hadn't eaten breakfast, and he was getting incredibly hungry. Any hopes of Wood having a quick and succinct practice was dashed when he brought out the diagrams with color-coded squiggly lines that were obviously supposed to be important, but no one was awake enough to care.

At some point, roughly halfway through Wood's explanation of a technique the Gryffindor team would be practicing that involved many fancy maneuvers, Colin had disappeared. Sephiroth didn't even notice him leave, and he wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or unnerved. He didn't like the idea of Colin Creevey being able to sneak up on him.

He looked back at the field, half-expecting to see Colin running out to start pestering the entire team with questions. Wood's diagram had four more colors than it had two minutes ago, with symbols that almost look like maths. There were a couple stick men thrown into the lot, too.

"Hi, Sephiroth!" came Colin's chipper voice, and Sephiroth almost jumped. "I brought some stuff from the Great Hall. I heard that you passed out when you didn't eat! Is that true?"

Hunger warred with intense aggravation, but eventually his stomach won out. Sephiroth took the plate of food Colin had smuggled out of the Great Hall with a mumbled thanks, deciding that maybe he wasn't entirely all bad. He wasn't sure what to think at the fact Colin just happened to pick all of his favorite foods, though. That only lead him to wonder what else Colin noticed, and if he was downright stalking Sephiroth and Harry. Rather than creep himself out, Sephiroth settled on enjoying the food.

"So, I noticed how you ate loads of food—"

Everyone had noticed that, but details were unimportant. Sephiroth was a little more willing to tolerate Colin now that his stomach was full—although he still threw glances at the Quidditch practice, silently urging Wood to hurry and end it.

"—and this story about a quadruple murder that Fred and George told me about," Colin rambled on. "I don't know if the rumors were true or not, though. They seemed serious, but . . ."

Sephiroth nodded blankly, before what Colin said actually clicked.

"Wait, quadruple murder?" he said. "Where did you hear about that?"

"Apparently there was this group of students who were all found dead in a classroom a couple decades ago," said Colin, looking very grave. "They were all found collapsed, not a wound on their body, as if they suddenly dropped dead."

Colin leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice.

"According to Fred and George, you can even find the same classroom. They said you can hear voices wailing in that area."

"You're hearing voices now?" came Genesis's voice from behind them, dropping onto the seat between Sephiroth and Colin, shoving the younger boy away. "You might want to get that checked out."

"That's not what he was saying and you know it," said Hermione, taking a seat next to Angeal and throwing Colin an apologetic look.

"Is Harry done yet?" asked Ron.

"I don't think they've even started," said Sephiroth, eyeing the toast Ron was clutching onto. "We've been here since dawn."

Ron held his toast at a safer distance.

"How long does it take to go over strategy?" he said, rolling his eyes. "It's been hours."

Sephiroth looked up at the Gryffindors as they flew in circles around the Pitch, just starting their practices in earnest. Next to Genesis, holding his camera up and clicking frantically, Colin was loudly vying for Harry's attention, waving him over.

"Look over here, Harry!" yelled Colin, lifting his camera a little higher. "Come closer!"

Wood was eyeing Colin suspiciously, as if he was some kind of impostor sent to observe their practice match. Harry did his best to ignore Colin, purposefully flying higher and away from the flashes of the camera. The rest of the Gryffindor team didn't seem to appreciate Colin's shouting and waving, either.

That was around when they were distracted by something else, their flying suddenly resembling that of angry bees as they made a straight shot for the ground. Sephiroth tore his eyes from the sky to see a group of students in green Slytherin robes crossing onto the field. They each held a broomstick in their hand, so Sephiroth guessed they were the Slytherin Quidditch team. That didn't explain what they were doing on the field, since Sephiroth knew Wood had booked the Pitch for the entire morning.

"I sense trouble," said Ron, eyes trained on the Slytherins.

Hermione sighed, closing the latest Lockhart book she was reading, and stood up.

"Let's go, we'd might as well see what's going on—"

The words hadn't even completely left her mouth before Sephiroth was leaping over the edge of the stands. Angeal flailed briefly in a vain try at grabbing him before he flung himself into thin air. Sephiroth had learned from last year, though, and dodged his grip. He wasn't going to spend the majority of Quidditch matches and practices dangling from someone's hand because he was too slow to avoid them.

Sephiroth landed lightly onto the field, joined a second later by Genesis and Angeal. The others were scrambling to leave the stands normally, since neither of them wanted to end up with a broken leg—or worse—from jumping straight off. Rumors and wary glances aside, having a sturdy body had its advantages.

"Wow, d'you think you can do that again?" called Colin. "I want a picture!"

"No," Genesis yelled up at him. "And go to—"

"Don't be cruel," said Angeal.

Sephiroth chose to ignore their banter in favor of heading toward the knot of Quidditch players in the center of the field, all staring each other down. At the front of the Gryffindors was Oliver Wood, glaring up at the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Marcus Flint. Sephiroth remembered Flint from the previous year, and more importantly his habit toward cheating at every single opportunity. At one point he had nearly knocked Harry clean off his broom, which was something Sephiroth wouldn't be letting go of anytime soon.

"This is our practice time!" Wood was shouting at Flint furiously. "We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Flint was leering down at Wood with a kind of smirk that meant he knew he had a trick up his sleeve.

"Plenty of room for all of us, Wood," he said.

Wood looked about ready to explode from pure anger, his face flushed.

"But I booked the field!" he roared. "I booked it!"

Fred and George were staring daggers at Flint—Angelina, Alicia, and Katie glared at the Slytherin team, which was bereft of any female players. They looked about ready to launch into blows at any moment. Sephiroth would be surprised if a fight didn't break out, with the way they were all boring holes into each others' skulls with their eyes.

Sephiroth peered around the group of green-clad Slytherins and was shocked to see the pale blond hair of Draco, clutching onto a black broom just like the rest of the team. Draco had been complaining to his father about being allowed on the Slytherin Quidditch team in Borgin and Burkes, but Sephiroth hadn't thought he would actually go for a spot on the team. Then again, he never thought Draco would want to buy a glass eye or a dismembered hand, so his assumptions always seemed to be wrong when they included Draco Malfoy.

"I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape," said Flint, pulling out a square of parchment. " 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker'."

Sephiroth threw Draco a deadpan look—he was swiftly ignored, but he was certain Draco saw. Of all the roles he could have gone for, it just had to be a Seeker.

Now that he had been announced, Draco stepped forward from the throng of Slytherins to brandish himself as the new Seeker. He looked proud, and for some reason Sephiroth had the urge to hurtle another book at his head. It was always two steps forward, one step back with him. He had seemed kind enough when they spoke earlier—although his questions about Sephiroth's blood purity were strange—and then he went and pulled this.

It wouldn't have been nearly as annoying, if he wasn't smirking so widely.

"Remember when he would go silent when your hair was up?" said Genesis, scowling at Draco. He threw a contemplative look at Sephiroth. "Maybe he'll do the same if you do pigtails."

"Over my dead body," said Sephiroth without a moment of hesitation.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" asked Fred, and Sephiroth realized with a start that neither Fred nor George had met Draco face-to-face before.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," Flint drawled out, a smile growing on his face that was extremely unpleasant. The rest of the team mirrored him—Sephiroth was definitely going to throw a book a Draco's head later. Maybe it would deflate his ego a bit. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

Sephiroth translated 'generous gift' to bribery, watching as they showed off their broomsticks. They all looked new and gleamed with polish. He looked closer and saw the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One scrawled out in flowing golden letters on the sides. Lucius Malfoy really had bought Draco's way onto the team, then. Part of Sephiroth had wondered if he really would do that. It seemed there was a legitimate reason for Mr. Weasley's dislike of the man.

By now, the Gryffindors were literally trembling with ill-concealed rage. Sephiroth swept his eyes over the Slytherin team, noticing they were looking even happier than before, and for the life of him couldn't understand why they took so much joy in infuriating others. Flint rambled on about the Nimbus Two Thousand and One almost as much as Colin asked questions about Sephiroth's physical strength and Harry's everything.

"I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount," said Flint smugly. "As for the old Cleansweeps—sweeps the board the them."

Sephiroth heard Genesis make a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

"Probably took him all day to think that up," he sneered. "What is with them and their rehearsed insults? I thought Malfoy and Parkinson were bad."

"Oh, look!" Flint glanced at something over their shoulders. "A field invasion."

Genesis's temper all but visibly snapped, the temperature around him raising dramatically.

"Enough with the awful puns!" he snarled, shoving through the line of Gryffindors and coming to a stop right in front of Flint. He was about half Flint's size, but the sparks dancing around his fingers and the murderous glare he had was enough to bring Flint to a startled halt.

Ron strode over to Harry immediately.

"What's happening?" he asked. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"

"They're being arses for absolutely no reason, that's what," hissed Genesis, stabbing a finger at Flint. "He could go literally anywhere else to practice. _Anywhere_. There is plenty of empty space in the Hogwarts grounds. But _no_ , you just had to come here with your horrible excuses for puns!"

Sephiroth wasn't sure if he was more outraged about the Slytherins interrupting the Gryffindor practice session, or the bad puns.

The pieces fell together for Ron and Hermione, their eyes widening in dismay.

" _You're_ the new Slytherin Seeker?" said Ron, looking aghast. He glanced at the brooms. "And are those—"

"Nice, wouldn't you say?" said Draco—he seemed to be pretending Sephiroth didn't exist. Either that, or he didn't notice the threatening aura Sephiroth was sending his way. "Suppose the Gryffindor team would have to raise some gold for new brooms. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

Angeal's expression darkened when the Slytherins started laughing.

"Because playing on such unbalanced terms is clearly a show of talent," he said, dangerously quiet. Sephiroth glanced at him, tempted to edge away. Angeal was always the silent kind of angry, the type that people didn't often even pick up on until he was at breaking point. "Your bank account speaks loads but what does it say for your ability?"

"Exactly," said Hermione cuttingly, and the Slytherins narrowed their eyes at her. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

Sephiroth noticed Draco flinch slightly and knew she had hit home. He took a step forward—the Slytherins looked as though they were about to hex Hermione and Angeal into next year—but came to a halt when he saw the cold look of loathing in Flint's eyes. He had seen a lot of wariness, suspicion, reluctant acceptance, of his strangeness, but this—this was something else entirely.

"Hogwarts' standards really have lowered," said Flint darkly. "I feel dirtied here these days, surrounded by half-breeds and Mudbloods."

Over the course of a year, Sephiroth had learned that half-breed was a very nasty insult. Genesis had seen fit to fill him in on all the details of what they were implying and it was nothing short of vicious and cruel. However, he had never heard the word Mudblood before—going off the way the Gryffindors all reached for their wands in unison, shouting in fury, it wasn't a good thing.

Genesis charged straight in to punch Flint in the face—Ron reached for his wand—Angeal noticed and tried to stop him, but he was elbowed in the face by one of the Slytherin Chasers.

There was something to be said about Angeal when he got angry. Angeal occasionally lost his temper, gaining a quiet sort of irritation that made everyone around him unsettled, but an outright furious Angeal was nothing short of terrifying.

He grabbed the Slytherin around his shoulder and flipped him bodily, sending him crashing to his back on the ground. An instant later, Genesis lit his palms with flames, standing over Flint's unmoving form—and someone grabbed Sephiroth by his hair, yanking his head back.

Sephiroth supposed that it went without saying, people were going to go for his hair every time. It was long and looked cumbersome, so of course it seemed like the most obvious thing to grab. That didn't make it true at all, nor did it alleviate Sephiroth's sudden flash of anger.

He was woken at the crack of dawn, forced out of bed to follow Harry to practice (he ignored the part where he could have stayed in bed), and had only eaten a meager snack, courtesy of Colin Creevey—whose rambling voice he had to listen to all morning long. This wasn't the first time Sephiroth's entire day turned into a chaotic mess that he would rather turn to mince in a blender, but it took the gold medal for happening all before noon.

Sephiroth glared up at the Slytherin—a tall boy with brutish features—through his fringe of silver.

"Let go," he said. "Right—now."

The Slytherin boy seemed unnerved by Sephiroth's unspoken promise of pain and suffering. He most definitely would have let go—the rumors of Sephiroth being able to break down walls and put craters in the floors hadn't completely died down from the previous year—but Ron decided to be helpful at that moment.

"Let him go!"

He pointed his wand at the Slytherin and Sephiroth had a horrific mental image of himself being covered in hundreds of green boils, because Ron's wand backfired again.

"No—wait, Ron!"

There was a flash emerald that shot out of Ron's wand, exploding from the opposite end and knocking him square in the abdomen. He fell back onto the grass, stunned.

Sephiroth elbowed the unlucky Slytherin in the stomach, leaving the boy to gasp for breath on the ground, and rushed over to Ron's side. Fred and George seemed to be taking turns stepping over Flint, while Genesis threw balls of fire at the remaining Slytherins. Draco was cowering from Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, who all had their wands pointed at his head.

"How are you feeling?" asked Sephiroth as he knelt by Ron's side, which he instantly knew was a stupid question, going off the green pallor on Ron's face.

"Ron! Are you all right?" Hermione hovered nervously by them. "Sephiroth, are you all right? He yanked your head really hard—"

Ron turned over and vomited a slug onto the grass.

Sephiroth felt his stomach turn and immediately choked down the overwhelming urge to run in the opposite direction. Even so, the color drained from his face and he leaned away from Ron, who was heaving up another bunch of slugs onto the ground.

"Oh, goddess," said Genesis, looking pale. "Are those slugs?"

Dismembered hands and glass eyeballs were preferable to Ron vomiting slugs. For a whole fifteen seconds, Sephiroth couldn't bring himself to move. He thought that even blood wasn't as bad as vomit in general—let along _slugs_.

The Slytherins started laughing. Sephiroth cast them a disbelieving look, honestly unable to imagine what could be so hilarious about watching someone throw up slugs. It was making him feel sick just looking at it, and he wasn't one who was cursed.

Genesis spun around again and started lobbing more fireballs. Sephiroth hoped, with no little amount of spite, that the fire would catch on their brooms and burn them to cinders.

"Up you go," said Angeal, pulling one of Ron's arms around his shoulder. "Sephiroth, help me out here—don't give me that look, slugs never killed anyone—and Genesis, stop trying to kill them."

"We should bring him to Hagrid's," Harry suggested, "it's nearest."

Sephiroth looped Ron's other arm over his shoulders, trying to avoid the vomit and slugs at all costs. He couldn't imagine how horrible Ron must feel, especially with the Slytherins laughing at him and those moments where no one wanted to even get close to him.

"Madam Pomfrey will be cure him, though," said Genesis worriedly, hovering by Ron. He had gotten over his initial repulsion of the slugs rather quickly. "Can Hagrid cure these kinds of things?"

"I don't know," said Angeal tightly, "but we just need to get him away from here."

Sephiroth cast a look at the Slytherins, who were forcing amused laughter far longer than was acceptable. He had never felt so much disgust toward the Slytherin until today. He forced himself not to look for Draco in the midst of the green, unwilling to see whether or not he was laughing with them—he had counted Draco among his friends, someone important despite how, more often than not, Draco merely tolerated his presence.

 _I'm not your friend!_ Draco had snapped over and over again.

Sephiroth was starting to believe him.

"What happened, Harry?" came Colin's unwelcome voice over the Gryffindor team, who was trying to block Ron from the Slytherin team's view. "Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?"

Last Sephiroth knew, Harry didn't have any special kinds of healing magic. As far as unique magics went, Genesis was the most unusual, with his complete control over fire. The final straw was when Colin tried to take a picture of Ron, and Harry's temperament gave out. He snarled at Colin to go away and gave Angeal and Sephiroth an impatient prod to leave.

"Here, let me," said Harry sharply, taking Ron's arm from Sephiroth and practically dragging him and Angeal away from the Quidditch pitch. He had to have been incredibly angry to be so forceful, making Sephiroth wonder exactly what Colin said to set him off.

"Are you sure we shouldn't be taking him to Madam Pomfrey?" said Hermione worriedly.

"Hagrid's is—" Ron broke off for a second. "Hagrid's place is fine."

And so, with the sun just barely hovering above the horizon and the morning dew still clinging to the grass, they trudged over the grounds. Sephiroth offered to take Ron back when Harry started struggling, but it was fiercely denied. With Hermione muttering encouragements to Ron, and Genesis quietly seething behind them over the Slytherins' actions, they finally spotted Hagrid's house at the edge of the grounds, by the Forbidden Forest.

"Almost there," said Hermione. She chewed her lip nervously. "I still think we should have gone to Madam Pomfrey, but Hagrid might know a thing or two. I mean, he's worked here for a long while, hasn't he? Should have picked up a couple tricks . . ."

Sephiroth heard his voice before seeing him, sending wailing red sirens off in his mind. He wouldn't be surprised if there were a couple "ABORT! ABORT!" signs flashing on and off somewhere in there, too. He grabbed Harry and Angeal by the backs of their shirts, hauling them away from the house and behind a low cropping of bushes.

"What is it?" snapped Genesis. "What could _possibly_ be more important than—"

His voice strangled off as the door to Hagrid's house burst open and Lockhart appeared, giving his typical award-winning grin and talking rapidly.

"Goddess, _why_ ," Genesis groaned. "Why is he always in the worst place?"

"It's like waiting for a jump scare in a video game," mumbled Harry.

"A what?" asked Ron, before he went green. They scrambled back to avoid the splatter of slugs. " _. . . Ugh_."

Hermione rubbed his back, grimacing lightly.

"I'm sure it'll be fine soon," she said.

"Why can't he just leave?" said Sephiroth in frustration, peering around the bush. He tried not to feel embarrassed of hiding from Lockhart behind a patch of shrubbery. Really, it wasn't as though he could be blamed for it—even a punch hadn't been enough to dissuade Lockhart from his tries at making Sephiroth into a fan. Lockhart's determination was close to horrifying.

Only a couple steps behind Lockhart, Hagrid shuffled out into the light, looking incredibly disgruntled. The way he squinted at Lockhart made Sephiroth think he was trying not to give into the temptation to throw Lockhart bodily over the grounds, as far away as possible.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing! If you need help, you know where I am!" Lockhart paused to grin, patting Hagrid on the shoulder. He gathered his robes, a very light plum color, and stepped out onto the grass. "I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one—I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!"

Sephiroth and the others watched him leave with irritated expressions, barring Ron, who vomited again.

"How much can you fit in one stomach?" moaned Ron, sounding almost irritable.

"Maybe Hagrid will have something for it," said Harry, pulling Ron up again, and they headed for Hagrid's house.

"Nothing for it," said Hagrid gruffly, after he had ushered them inside. He handed Ron a bucket. "Better out than in, I suppose."

"We should have taken him to Madam Pomfrey," said Genesis waspishly, throwing a glare at Hermione as if it was her fault.

For once, she didn't immediately snap back, far too busy being worried to muster up annoyance. Genesis's annoyance was probably coming from his own concern for his brother. Genesis hardly showed any kind of protective instinct over Ron, even on the best of days, but that didn't stop the fact they were brothers. Sephiroth supposed it was Genesis's own strange way of showing he cared.

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione, wringing her hands. She looked frustrated. "Top of the class, and there's nothing I can do—"

"Don't feel bad," said Angeal, "it's a difficult curse even at the best times. With his wand broken . . ."

"We saw Lockhart leaving," Genesis commented, glancing at the window, as if expecting Lockhart to appear at the mention of his name.

Sephiroth fought off the itch to look as well. He wouldn't put it passed Lockhart to randomly materialize when his name was spoken. Even if it was possible. There had to be a limit to magic, after all, and a spell to summon people with their name alone couldn't possibly be exist. Of course, it would explain why people were terrified of Voldemort's name, but—Sephiroth cut his train of thought short. He refused to believe Voldemort could be summoned by his name.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?"

Sephiroth almost flinched when Harry repeated Lockhart's name.

At the question, Hagrid's expression turned thunderous.

"Givin' me advice on getting kelpies out of a well—like I don' know. An bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

"Did he mention running away?" said Genesis snidely. "If so, then I believe a kettle is on the menu."

Hagrid gave a slight snort, setting a dirty rag on the table and turning to stoke the fire up. The mention of the kettle seemed to have reminded him to ready tea.

It seemed most people at Hogwarts agreed that Lockhart was trash, Sephiroth noted. Even Hagrid, who was kind and agreeable on most days, couldn't put up with him for very long.

"I think you're being a bit unfair," said Hermione, sitting very tensely. "Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job—"

"As if," Genesis grumbled.

"He was the only man for the job," said Hagrid, before Hermione could turn her ire on Genesis and instigate another verbal war. "An' I mean the only one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer awhile now."

Hagrid set the heated kettle on the table with a _thump_ , pulling out several glasses.

"So tell me," he said, nodding at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"

"Some Slytherin who was pulling Sephiroth's ridiculous hair out," said Genesis without missing a beat.

" _You—_ "

Hagrid stared at Sephiroth very seriously.

"Why was somone tryin' ter pull your hair out?"

"Genesis punched the Slytherin team's captain," said Sephiroth.

Hagrid looked at Genesis.

"An' why were yeh punchin' the Slytherin team's captain?"

"He called Hermione a Mudblood and Sephiroth a half-breed!" Genesis burst out furiously, hands gripping the table so tightly the wood splintered.

"He didn'!" Hagrid's expression darkened, eyes flitted between Sephiroth and Hermione.

"It was bad," came Ron's voice, coughing weakly. "He treated them like trash."

"We still don't know what that means," said Harry.

"I could tell it was rude," said Hermione, frowning, "but—"

"It was beyond rude," snarled Genesis. "Mudblood is a horrible name, used for a Muggle-born. It's like calling them foul or dirty blood. Just because their parents are wizards. I guess Flint's family are one of those bloody _idiots_ who think the wizarding population can continue on three families. Well, just look at what it did for his face."

Draco had looked disappointed when Sephiroth didn't know his parents. It didn't take much speculation to figure his reaction had something to do with the Mudblood comment. Draco's family was almost assuredly one of those families that found Muggle-borns trash, explaining Lucius Malfoy's decidedly cool demeanor toward Sephiroth in Knockturn Alley.

 _Are you a pureblood?_

"Does it really matter?" Sephiroth mumbled aloud.

"It doesn't," said Genesis fiercely, seeming to know exactly what Sephiroth was thinking. "It doesn't matter at all."

"Oh, Harry," said Hagrid suddenly, drawing all of their attention. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

* * *

 _Omake_

A Letter

Of all the things Cloud expected to hear from Sephiroth after his first week back at school, this wasn't it. An owl had landed on the front porch that morning, a letter in its talon, and Cloud had quickly gone to see what was written, only to find a baffling question on fans and Sephiroth afraid that they had something to do with his previous life. Apparently something happened at school-Cloud was going to have to tell him to be more clear, because "something" was hardly an explanation-that revolved around fans, eliciting a feeling of dread that Sephiroth found " _understandable, but completely over the top, is there something wrong with me? Or did something happen in the past?_ "

Cloud had no answer for that question. He knew Sephiroth had had fans, of course-he was a General who could take on an army single-handed-but he didn't remember anything specific. He puzzled over it for nearly the entire day, until Zack returned from his latest attempt at scoring a job. Going off the dejected expression he wore, they wouldn't be getting free pastries anytime soon.

"Zack," he said once the other man had settled down, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Did Sephiroth have issues with his fans?"

Zack spewed his tea, coughing for a good minute and thumping his chest. When he was no longer suffocating on scalding water, Zack turned a bemused look at Cloud.

"What?" he said. "Why're you asking?"

"Sephiroth sent a letter about it," said Cloud, handing him the parchment. He watched as Zack skimmed it over. "He seemed really concerned."

For a moment, Zack's face was even-then his mouth twitched, and he was struggling to contain laughter.

"What is it?" asked Cloud, trying not to sound impatient.

"It's just-" Zack took a deep breath, turning very serious. "You have seen nothing, until you've witnessed Sephiroth dead-sprint two miles and hide behind a trashcan to avoid his fans."

"What?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Sephiroth's fans were _extreme_ ," said Zack. "They got arrested more than once. All the time. Actually, I think getting arrested was a rite of passage to them? They once sent a full silk set of . . . stuff. Actually, looking back now, I don't think Sephiroth even knew what it was. He had Genesis burn it anyway."

Cloud was hearing words, but they were making very little sense.

"Sephiroth was afraid of his fans?" he asked.

"Dead-sprinted two miles and hid behind a trashcan," Zack repeated. "And then he called up the Turks for the quickest way out of that area. He said he was running away from a monster escaped from Hojo's lab. I don't think Tseng believed him-he kept bringing it up for weeks after, saying they hadn't located the escaped monsters yet. And asking for detailed descriptions."

In the past, Cloud wouldn't have been able to picture Sephiroth hiding from his fans and lying to Turks to escape from them. After seeing Sephiroth as a child, and reading his letters, Cloud could imagine it, even if just a little.

"What . . . What should I say?" he asked, because he honestly had no words for this.

Zack waved a hand, unconcerned.

"Just tell him it's normal and he shouldn't worry," he said.

Cloud wasn't at the school, they weren't even his own fans, and he was worried. After hours of agonizing over it, he ended up writing down almost exactly what Zack said, and hoped the problem would fix itself.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm cutting it close with this chapter again, sorry about that! But I got sidetracked, and then I had the inspiration to write that omake at the last minute . . . Things should start picking up from here on, plot-wise. Hopefully. I have a habit of drawing stuff out...**

 **Guest: Thanks! Sharing a last name with Lockhart is an ultimate dose of misfortune XD It's probably mind-boggling for Cloud, since Tifa's capable and strong, and Gilderoy Lockhart's...not. Unless it's with memory charms.**

 **Guest: Sephiroth happily accepts your cookie! And hopefully the omake helps clear up a little why Sephiroth's afraid of his fans. ... I honestly do not know why Harry and Ron went to Lockhart for help... Maybe it was a last ditch thing? I need to reread that part of the book. I know afterward it was revenge for how much he's lied and cheated to get where he is. (He totally deserved being shoved down the Chamber of Secrets).**

 **Thanks for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! And I'm sorry again for being late with this chapter!**


	10. Chapter 10

10

As it turned out, Hagrid was only joking when he asked Harry for signed photographs. That was for the best, because Harry had been about to lose all semblance of control over his temper, and Sephiroth didn't feel like watching him rant about signed photos again. He had heard enough of those throughout their entire first week at Hogwarts.

"I knew yeh hadn't really," Hagrid was saying as he led them outside, still chucking slightly. He claimed there was something in the back he wanted to show them. "I told Lockhart yeh didn't need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."

Sephiroth mentally added _master of roasts_ onto the list of personality traits Hagrid possessed. With any luck, Hermione would take a lesson or two from Hagrid's attitude towards Lockhart and wise up. For someone like Hagrid, who generally disliked talking badly about anyone, it meant there was a very good reason he was inclined to give Lockhart the cold shoulder.

"Bet he didn't like that," Harry commented, trying not to laugh.

"I just wish I could have seen the look on his face," said Genesis, almost wistfully.

They rounded the house and entered the vegetable patch that Hagrid diligently worked on nearly all year long. Sephiroth had seen it the year before, although he had the distinct impression that there hadn't been pumpkins so large that they towered above himself. They seemed to loom over Sephiroth and the others, already turning a healthy orange color.

"Gettin' on well, aren't they?"

Hagrid's proud voice emanated from somewhere in the pumpkin patch, his bulky form hidden from sight.

"Fer the Halloween feast . . . should be big enough by then."

The fact the pumpkins would grow even larger was overcome by the mention of the Halloween feast, which piqued Sephiroth's interest. He had missed out on the feast last year, something he wouldn't stop secretly lamenting over until he enjoyed it come the next Halloween feast.

"There is no way they're like this naturally," said Genesis flatly.

"Have you been giving them something?" asked Angeal, looking contemplative. He was eyeballing the pumpkins as if trying to dissect their unknown properties. "A potion? Fertilizer? A spell?"

"An Engorgement Charm, I'd suppose," said Hermione, inspecting the pumpkins closely as well. She looked mildly amused. "You've done a good job on them, Hagrid."

"That's what yer little sister said," Hagrid said proudly.

"Ginny?" said Ron, still a little ashen. Occasionally he would burp up a couple snails. It seemed to bother him far less than it did a couple minutes ago, turning into something of a time-consuming irritation. That didn't make him any less green when he coughed up a slug.

"No, our other little sister—who else?" snapped Genesis, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Lay off," said Angeal. "He's still not feeling well."

"If I get sick again," said Ron irritably to Genesis, "I'm aiming on you."

"Ginny's been off lately," said Genesis, crossing his arms and looking vaguely perturbed. "I tried to say good morning to her, but she didn't even notice. Didn't even _look_ at me."

"What was she doing?" asked Angeal, frowning.

"She was writing in some diary," Genesis bemoaned. "I'm her big brother, she's supposed to _pay attention_ when I talk to her!"

"I'm pretty sure that's completely wrong," said Angeal with a dry smile.

Sephiroth wracked his brain for memories of Ginny, but they were mostly composed of a mousy girl running away from Harry and himself—mostly Harry. She was incredibly shy, tending to hide behind her thick red hair, and seemed to lose all ability to speak when around Harry. All of their encounters—minus the ones at the dinner table, surrounded by her family—had ended with her making a hasty retreat. She would also blush heavily, which raised some kind of brotherly instinct that told Sephiroth she was a danger to Harry's health.

"Said she was jus' lookin' 'round the grounds," said Hagrid, throwing a sly look at Harry, "but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house. If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed—"

"Oh, shut up," sighed Harry.

"You're not letting go of that anytime soon, are you?" asked Sephiroth.

Hagrid gave a short, but highly amused, laugh.

"Hey, back off!" Genesis yelped as Ron gagged again.

Ron struggled weakly against laughter.

"Get over here!"

"Merlin, _no_!"

"Would the both of you quit it?" huffed Hermione. "Ronald, stop running about. You'll only make yourself worse."

Angeal face-palmed as Ron zombie-walked after Genesis, entirely ignoring Hermione's orders.

They returned to the castle about an hour later, feeling like mice as they scurried up the grounds, going as fast as they could manage. Neither of them had eaten much all day and they were afraid of running into Lockhart around each corner. It had reached the heat of day, so—with the exception of Genesis, who seemed immune to heat in general—they were all relieved to step into the hall, shaded from the sunlight. Sephiroth immediately made a beeline for the Great Hall.

He didn't make it far before he heard the familiar clicking steps of Professor McGonagall, her arms full of books and rolls of parchment. For a moment, he was curious what she was doing with so many rolls of parchment, but then he remembered she was the one deciding their punishments. Sephiroth wondered if there was actually a section in the Hogwarts rule book stating it was illegal to fly cars to school. If there was, who knew what other kind of oddly specific rules might exist. He would have asked Hermione about it—but that would probably only set her off about their recklessness again.

"There you are—Potter, Crescent—Weasleys," she said, striding directly toward them.

Sephiroth resisted the urge to shrink back as she approached. No edging away would save them from their upcoming detentions, so instead he steeled himself for what was coming. If they were lucky, they would be given a detention in the Forbidden Forest again. Sephiroth wanted to meet Firenze again.

Their luck, as always, wasn't holding out in their favor. Professor McGonagall had the same harried expression most of the professors had worn since the start of school. Usually it meant they recently had a run-in with Lockhart, so Sephiroth knew Professor McGonagall wasn't likely in a very merciful mood.

"You will all do your detentions this evening," she said, shifting her books and parchment in her arms to get a better look at them. That was definitely a post-Lockhart encounter face.

Genesis looked a heartbeat away from complaining, but Angeal stomped down hard on his foot before he could so much as open his mouth. ("That _hurt,_ Angeal!"; "Don't get us in more trouble than we already are!")

"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," said Professor McGonagall to Ron, whose face drained of color again. "And no magic, Weasley—elbow grease."

"Professor, Ron is ill," said Angeal. "Can't his detention be postponed?"

"Ill?" said Professor McGonagall, hawk-like eyes fastening on Ron, who started sweating. "Then why aren't you in the hospital? Unless I'm wrong—" she said it in a way that alerted them she knew she wasn't wrong "— you've been frolicking in the grounds for the better part of the day, Weasley."

She turned to Harry, who immediately straightened.

"You and Crescent will be with Professor Lockhart," she said. "He needs help answering his fan mail."

Sephiroth's heart plummeted to the cold, unforgiving floor. If there was a worst case scenario for detentions, besides the fact it was a detention, that was it. He couldn't think of anything more terrible than spending time with Professor Lockhart for an extended period. Especially when answering _fan mail—_ Lockhart was going to do nothing but brag about his accomplishments the whole time—and being forced to endure the awful worshiping of his rabid fans.

Not to mention the winking and smiling and plainly _a_ _wful talking_ that never seemed to end—the thickheaded belief that he was the world's gift to philosophical thinkers and speakers, exercising that exceedingly obvious false bravado that people fell for anyway—

"Anyone else," said Sephiroth, the words bursting out with desperation. "Anything else, _please_ professor. If I ever did anything to make you proud—I transfigured that beetle first try, right? _Please not Professor Lockhart_."

"He thinks I'm giving out signed photos," said Harry, equally pleading. "He won't stop pestering me about it. We can scrub the floors—without magic! It'll lighten the load on Filch—he's overworked, after all—and it's far more useful than answering letters!"

"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall—and Sephiroth knew a part of her had to be truly upset over the car incident, because this was borderline cruelty—but he noticed she seemed slightly bemused by their insistence. "Professor Lockhart requested you two particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."

She turned sharply to Genesis and Angeal, the later having been trying to sneak away.

"You two! You'll be helping Hagrid around the grounds," she said. "Same time! Now, off you go."

They started toward the Great Hall again in a depressed shuffle and by the time they stepped under the enchanted sky, Sephiroth had lost his appetite. He stared at his plate of food numbly, unable to believe Professor McGonagall's heartless decision. Throughout most of his life, it had been increasingly clear that he would never catch a break from the rotten luck that dominated him, but a detention with Lockhart was really pushing it to the limits.

He had written to Zack, Cloud and Aerith about Lockhart already. The three of them had responded quickly. Their replies were nothing like what Sephiroth and Harry had expected, though. Aerith more or less told them to pretend Lockhart didn't exist—if that didn't work, she knew plenty of herbal remedies that would apparently ruin his day.

 _They're not magical remedies, either_ , she had written, _so it's not like your Potions Master will be blamed for it!_

"She's kind of scary," said Harry, wide-eyed.

Sephiroth nodded mutely.

Zack rambled on about magic in self-defense, and that they should really just " _nip the problem in the bud and knock his lights out again, Sephiroth_." Tempting as that was, Sephiroth wasn't exactly willing to risk being expelled. If he wasn't expelled, he was half afraid Professor McGonagall would try to think up a detention even worse than the one he already had.

Cloud's letter was the most straightforward:

 _Ignore him at every chance you get. If he still tries to talk to you, tell him you're not interested and move on. If that doesn't work, curse him or knock him unconscious—just do whatever Zack told you to do. Or Aerith. Now, if that doesn't work . . . just write me again and I'll take care of it_.

"Cloud is the scariest out of all of them," mumbled Sephiroth.

Hermione had been very disapproving of Aerith, Zack, and Cloud's blasé reactions and somewhat violent methods, but didn't press the topic too much. Sephiroth allowed himself to hope that was Hermione's way of showing them she was realizing that Gilderoy Lockhart was trash. Perhaps she would stop defending him so vehemently now.

" _Eat something_ ," said Hermione insistently during dinner, right before their detentions.

Sephiroth grimaced.

"I'm not so hungry," he said.

"Do you want to pass out from hunger?" she snapped.

"When have I ever actually passed out from hunger?" said Sephiroth waspishly, refusing to look her in the eyes.

Harry coughed pointedly, a nonverbal reminder of their first meeting with Cloud and Zack. Sephiroth had been so malnourished, he had fainted before they even left the Dursley house. He scowled, but was glad Harry hadn't said anything out loud. His starvation was one of the many things he left out of the explanation letters to Genesis, Angeal, Ron, and Hermione. Their reactions would have been guaranteed to be overwhelming and he was afraid if they knew the details, they might act differently around him.

"Maybe if I pass out, I can sleep through detention," said Sephiroth. He returned to pushing his food around his plate, unenthusiastic.

Genesis looked up from his meal, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you really want your unconscious body around Lockhart, unchecked?" he asked.

Sephiroth stared at him for a long moment—and started shoveling food in his mouth.

"I'll be there, too, you know," said Harry.

"What on _earth_ do you think he's going to do?!" said Hermione, aghast.

"Don't ask questions, Hermione," Genesis scolded. He motioned to Sephiroth and his dwindling plate of food. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Stop talking about me when I'm right in front of you," Sephiroth muttered around his food.

"Chew with your mouth closed," said Hermione offhandedly.

Genesis rolled his eyes.

"What are you, his mother?"

"Why do you have to nitpick everything I say?" she cried.

The rest of the meal was spent in a haze of dread. Sephiroth wished time could have flowed much slower, which of course meant the entire day had zoomed by at record speeds. When they were finished with dinner and eight o'clock neared, they headed out for their detentions. Genesis and Angeal wished Harry and Sephiroth good luck, which Ron echoed as he left for the Trophy Room with Filch. Of the five of them, Genesis and Angeal got off the easiest.

Hagrid wasn't likely to work them too hard, and it wasn't as though helping around the grounds was much of a punishment. On top of that, Sephiroth wouldn't put it passed Genesis to smooth talk himself throughout the entire detention and wind up doing little to no work at all. Somehow Sephrioth doubted Angeal would try too hard to stop him.

Eight o'clock rolled around and found Harry and Sephiroth standing outside Lockhart's office, identical looks of apprehension on their faces.

"What happens if we don't turn up for a detention?" asked Sephiroth in an undertone.

"We get expelled, I guess," said Harry.

"How badly do we need a Hogwarts graduation on our resumes?"

Harry sighed, but said nothing. His silence was an answer in itself.

"Let's get it over with?" Sephiroth suggested halfheartedly.

"Yeah," Harry replied.

Neither of them moved to knock on the door.

"Rock—Paper—Scissors!"

Five minutes later, Sephiroth was standing in front of the door, his eye twitching. He officially had the worst luck. Either that, or Harry was unnaturally good at Rock, Paper, Scissors. He had lost the first game—and then the four games after that.

He knocked once—the door was yanked open almost immediately, as though Lockhart had been waiting directly behind it for them.

"Ah! Here's the scalawags!" Lockhart grinned down at them. "Come in, Harry, Sephiroth, come in!"

Sephiroth didn't remember giving Lockhart permission to use his first name. He gave Lockhart a sour glare as he stepped inside, closely followed by Harry.

They were met by a small audience of Lockharts, paintings and photographs alike, hanging in grand frames and illuminated by dozens of candles that burned softly. All of the miniature (although some were painfully life-sized, such as the full portrait leaning against far wall) Lockharts started waving and grinning in unison, acting out random motions and sometimes tripping and falling out of their frames. A fine set of porcelain teacups were ready on the desk, the kettle steaming.

In less words, it was Sephiroth's worst nightmare.

"Sit here—sit here," said Lockhart, ushering them over to his desk where two extra chairs were set out for them. He placed a large stack of envelopes on the desk in front of them. "You can address the envelopes!"

Sephiroth reluctantly sat, eyeing the tall stack of fan mail with heavy gloom. He was getting an awful and nigh-overpowering feeling of deja vu, something that probably stemmed from his first life. Looking at the envelopes, he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to sort through all of them, let alone actually enjoy it. Lockhart's expression was far happier than the circumstances warranted, surrounded by what would definitely take hours to finish. That didn't even begin to cover what the contents of the letters pertained—Sephiroth would rather not think about it.

"The first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her—huge fan of mine—"

Ten envelopes later and Sephiroth noticed the reoccurring theme of all the senders being female. He glanced up at Lockhart, and not for the first time suspected he had cast some a spell of some kind that only affected women. There was simply no way that so many women could be enamored with him, not when he was clearly untrustworthy. Although, there were plenty of men sending letters, too—but Sephiroth's annoyance probably had to do with Hermione, one of his friends, being charmed by Lockhart.

Harry looked as though all of his soul was being torn from his body, and Sephiroth figured he didn't look much better. He glanced at the clock—and what had felt like hours, turned out to only be a couple minutes. He thought they should have blown through multiple piles of envelopes, but the piles seemed to stubbornly remain at a not-quite-halfway-done level. On top of that, they had to wait for Lockhart to write his responses to each of his fans to put the reply letters in the envelopes.

It was long and tedious work, and Sephiroth couldn't wait for the night to be over.

"Nothing like fan mail!" said Lockhart boisterously, scratching his extravagant peacock-feathered quill across a piece of parchment. "It's always nice to hear from your fans. Mind you, you shouldn't let their praise get to your head! Eh, Harry?"

"Uh-huh," said Harry, mind numbed with boredom.

Lockhart tutted over one letter, setting it aside from the others.

"Some will not appreciate all your hard work, I'm afraid," he said, sounding very tragic. "However, it's important to learn from their words, and most of all, practice forgiveness. Sometimes you've merely gotten off on the wrong foot."

Lockhart was looking directly at Sephiroth meaningfully. He ignored Lockhart, deciding that he felt rather deaf today. Those words might have meant something, if Lockhart didn't spend most of his time actively seeking attention and trespassing all over others' business. Any of the professors could attest to that.

"Fame's a fickle friend—"

Another long hour passed, seeming like an eternity.

"Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that."

Sephiroth wanted to toss the quill and ink away, and bury his head in his arms. Or knock himself out. He had already seen more than enough loving letters written to Lockhart, spelled out the addresses to what had to be hundreds of envelopes, and endured through Lockhart's constant quips and ramblings. In terms of punishment, Sephiroth was absolutely certain that he and Harry had suffered more than enough.

At some point, Sephiroth had gone into autopilot and hardly noticed what he was doing until he had written out roughly triple the amount of addresses as Harry, his stack of envelopes leaning precariously to one side.

There was no saying how much time had passed while he was zoned out—it was as though he had fallen into oblivion, a timeless and frozen place—but he knew they had to be almost finished.

He opened his mouth to ask how long it had been since they started—and choked on his words when he was interrupted by a voice that didn't belong to anyone in the room.

" _Come . . . come to me . . . Let me rip you . . ."_

It was official—Sephiroth had gone insane. He felt as though his insides had flipped inside-out, something cold and prickly trailing up his spine. The voice seemed to resonate within his skull, unbearable and impossible to ignore.

" _Let me tear you . . . Let me kill you . . ._ "

Sephiroth pressed his hand against the side of his head, as if he could physically force the voice out of himself.

Not only was he hearing voices, but they were also homicidal. Last year it had been Aerith and that irritating buzzing, but he would take the constant buzz of static in the back of his head over hearing actual voices. Then it struck him that the voice might cause him to lose all control over himself again—this time he could go on a complete rampage, and there was no saying how many people he could injure—

"Did you hear that, too?" asked Harry in alarm, his eyes widened. His hands were clamped over his ears, trying to block out the voice.

Sephiroth was almost ashamed by the enormous rush of relief he felt, knowing he wasn't the only one to hear the voice. It had been cold and murderous, filled with an overwhelming hatred that nearly stopped Sephiroth's heart—hearing the voice in his head alone would have been beyond terrifying.

"Did you?" asked Harry again, and Sephrioth realized he never replied.

"Yeah," he said quickly, forcibly dragging his hand away from his head. He tried not to look an abominable mix of relieved and horrified. Even if the voice wasn't in his head, it had still been awful to hear.

Lockhart, who had burst out with some random fact about being the best-seller for six months, was staring at them with the faintest bit of anxiety.

"What voice?" he said, glancing about the room.

"That—that voice that said—" Harry faltered for a moment. "Didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart definitely looked unnerved.

"What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy?" He turned his wrist over to check his gleaming gold wristwatch. "And Great Scott—look at the time! We've been here for nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it—the time's flown, hasn't it? Funny how it does that, when one's having fun!"

 _Fun_. Sephiroth's hand tightened around a jar of ink. It was all too tempting to hurtle the jar directly at Lockhart's head, ruining his blond hair and fake smile, and all the dignity he gathered up each day. There was nothing fun about answering an army's worth of fan mail, suffering the awe-filled praise from throngs of mindless people—Sephiroth still couldn't believe Hermione actually _liked_ the man, it would forever baffle him—and stay up until midnight.

That didn't even begin to cover how unenjoyable it was to hear strange voices that only two of the three people in the room could hear. It was possibly one of the worst nights of Sephiroth's life, and he wanted nothing more than to retire to bed and forget all about it.

"Now, you shouldn't expect a treat like this every time you get a detention," said Lockhart as he showed them out the door, grinning cheerily.

Sephiroth glared at him, wondering where he got all that energy despite it being midnight. Perhaps he should have tried some of the tea after all, if it was laden with some kind of energy-booster. He would love to have one of those fizzy energy drinks that Zack consumed to an unhealthy level. (Something Aerith and Cloud had despaired over, multiple times).

They left Lockhart's office, not even pausing to listen to his bids of goodnight, and headed for the Gryffindor Tower. With every step that carried them farther from Lockhart's office, Sephiroth felt a little lighter—even if the cheerfulness of being finished was lessened by murderous voice he and Harry heard.

Halfway to the Gryffindor Tower, Sephiroth heard quick steps carrying in their direction. He was tempted to simply hide, but they were returning from detention and it wasn't as though they could get in trouble for being out after curfew. Hiding was impossible anyway, since there were only portraits and a few short statues of armor in the corridor.

"Potter—Crescent," said Professor McGonagall. She gave them a once over, as if looking for something in particular. "Returning from your detention?"

She sounded faintly annoyed.

"It about time," she said. "I was headed to fetch you."

Sephiroth wished she had gone to rescue them from Lockhart two hours ago.

"In any case, it's about time for the both of you to head off to bed," she said, pushing her glasses up her nose and eyeing them pointedly. "Well? No need to stand around here—I'm heading in the same direction, so I'd might as well see you there."

"Yes, professor," said Sephiroth and Harry.

They walked the rest of the way to the Gryffindor Tower in near silence, only broken by the occasional question Professor McGonagall asked them about their detention. After two such questions, Sephiroth opened the flood gates and reported (or complained about, whichever) Lockhart's entire detention to her, sparing not a single detail. Harry chipped in about the incredible boredom and Lockhart's irritating quips.

By the time they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, Sephiroth and Harry had more or less ranted everything there was to know about the annoying and overbearing nuances of Gilderoy Lockhart. They both felt as though a weight had been lifted from their chests, especially since Professor McGonagall hadn't scolded them for their tirade even once.

They parted ways there, Professor McGonagall bidding them a goodnight, before disappearing down another corridor.

"It was awful," were the first words out of Ron's mouth when he caught sight of them in the Gryffindor common room. He looked exhausted, collapsed onto one of the sofas and struggling to stay awake.

Next to him were Angeal and Genesis, who were both far better off than the rest of them.

"Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied," said Ron, kneading his aching forehead. His fingers looked red and sore. "And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off. . . . How was it with Lockhart?

"Lockhart had us answering his fan mail," said Sephiroth, feeling a headache of his own growing.

"Four hours of fan mail?" said Genesis, aghast. "How are you still alive and functioning?"

"And that's not all," Harry interjected, before proceeding to explain everything they heard in Lockhart's office. By the time he was finished, the others looked very concerned.

"It said it wanted to kill?" said Angeal, very tense. "Was it talking about anyone in particular?"

"I don't know," Harry answered regretfully. "It was all really vague, but . . . it's definitely looking to kill someone."

"You both heard the same thing?" said Genesis, glancing between Harry and Sephiroth. "I don't suppose any of you might think this has something to do with Malfoy's warning?"

"Malfoy might've warned him about a murderous voice?" said Ron, rubbing his forehead a little more vigorously. "D'you think he might have something to do—"

"I highly doubt it," said Sephiroth irritably, "and why do you automatically assume he's out to get us?"

"Because he's nasty?" Ron replied, his eyebrows raised. "You saw him on the Quidditch Pitch today—the people he was hanging around."

Sephiroth opened his mouth to retort—while he wasn't so sure anymore if Draco was truly a friend, he wasn't about to let anyone lump Draco in with anything involving that murderous voice—but Harry quickly interrupted before an argument could happen.

"You haven't said much about what you did," said Harry to Genesis and Angeal. "What did Hagrid have you doing?"

"Nothing much," said Genesis, waving the question off. "We followed him around a little—he wanted help fertilizing the pumpkins—but you'll never believe what he let slip."

Harry and Sephiroth watched him eagerly.

"What?" said Sephiroth impatiently. "Go on!"

"Apparently Hagrid might be the Care of Magical Creatures professor next year," said Angeal with a smile. "Professor Kettleburn's retiring soon, so Hagrid thinks he'll get the job."

"That's brilliant!" said Harry, grinning. "Won't we have that class next year?"

"It's part of the electives," said Genesis. "So if you choose it, yes."

They stumbled to bed soon after, as they were all—including Genesis and Angeal, who definitely got off the easiest—nodding off in front of the fireplace. Quietly, so they didn't wake Dean, Seamus, or Neville, they crawled into bed and almost immediately fell asleep. Sephiroth lingered awake a short while after the others, but it didn't take him very long to also drift off into slumber.

His sleep was punctuated with flashing images, snatches of words and the searing heat of fire—it crawled up his arms and legs and ravaged his body. There was a sea of blood arching above his head, threatening to collapse and drown him under the weight of thousands of dead bodies.

Every time he tried to run, to shout, to do _anything—_ he was frozen in place, as if his limbs no longer obeyed his command. Panic closed around his throat and choked him, because it didn't matter if he knew it was only a nightmare—it didn't make it feel any less real.

That was when the ocean of blood turned into rich crimson curtains, framing large ceiling-to-floor windows and checkered floors. The window showed lush, green grounds with a small pond and a couple odd, white birds. He started to relax, oddly at peace with the surroundings, almost as though he was supposed to feel at ease in that place.

Everything changed again, just as suddenly—there were bodies all around him, cold and gray eyes staring up at him. He was horrified—terrified and betrayed, choked with agony and so, so much sadness—

Sephiroth jerked upright, shaking slightly, his hair flying awry around his face. He had left his drapes open slightly, allowing in a beam of silvery moonlight. Standing by the foot of his bed was Neville, who looked a mixture of horrified and embarrassed, already stammering over his words and making to dart away like a frightened mouse.

For a whole second, Sephiroth wracked his brain for the nightmare that startled him awake, catching glimpses of crimson and decided he was better off letting it fade away. He tugging his fingers through his hair, but gave up—he could deal with the tangled mess later.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I—You—I mean . . ." Neville took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "You've always . . . had a lot of nightmares. Even more, recently."

"I have?" said Sephiroth, nonplussed despite himself. He knew he was prone to bad dreams—but, with the exception of tonight, he didn't remember having too many of them lately.

"Yeah," said Neville. "So, um, I thought . . . well, I used to have tons of nightmares, too. And my Gran gave me one of these to help, so . . ."

He held up a small, feathered object, which Sephiroth recognized as a dream-catcher. It might have been the moonlight, but the tiny little beads woven in with the braided strands almost seemed to be glowing faintly. The entire dream-catcher was about as large as Sephiroth's hand.

"A dream-catcher?" said Sephiroth, confused.

Neville nodded, steeling himself and pressing the dream-catcher into Sephiroth's hands. He jumped back, as if expecting to be stunned, and Sephiroth reminded himself that this was Neville, and he shouldn't feel too offended.

"It helped me a lot," said Neville shyly. "Even if it didn't really take away my bad dreams . . . it was still nice knowing that someone cared enough to give me something like that. . . . Almost like they're always watching over me. . . . If that makes any sense."

Neville looked away, embarrassed.

"Um, I'll go now," he said. "Sorry if you don't like it—"

"No, I like it very much," said Sephiroth, cupping the feathered object in his hands. "And I understand what you mean—it's nice to know people care about you. . . . But if this was a gift from your grandmother, are you sure you want to give it me?"

"Yeah, of course," said Neville, brightening considerably. He leaned closer and scooped the dream-catcher up, hanging in up on Sephiroth's bed frame in one swift movement. "You could put it there! . . . If you don't mind, I mean! If you don't want it there—"

"No, no, that's fine," said Sephiroth, waving off Neville's nervousness. He was still a little bemused, although most it was over how low Neville's self esteem remained. No matter what anyone said to him, doubts and insecurities always seemed to plague his every waking thought.

Sephiroth didn't have all too much experience accepting gifts and things like that—the first time he ever received a Christmas present was only last year. He hadn't been very sure how to react to them back then, and it still felt new and strange to be given something by someone else, without having to do anything in exchange.

"I—I'm glad you like it," said Neville, fidgeting uncomfortably for a long second. "I'll, um—head back to bed now!"

"All right—goodnight, then," said Sephiroth, and then smiled faintly. "And thank you."

Neville spluttered for a whole five seconds, and then gave a grin that he rarely ever showed—true and free of uncertainties. He clambered into his bed, and closed his drapes for the night.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for all the favs, follows and reviews! You guys are awesome and make writing these worth it :D**

 **Sorry this author's note is short and abrupt, but I've been sick off and on all week and I really can't concentrate at the moment. XD I'll address all your reviews when I'm feeling better! (I know, but I'm a huge wimp when I get sick T_T)**

 **Till next week!**


	11. Chapter 11

11

Whether it was magic or something else, Sephiroth spent the rest of the night in a dreamless slumber. He only wished the dream-catcher could grant him a well-rested body, since going to sleep past midnight and waking up somewhere around _way-too-early_ didn't make for a good morning.

His good mood was almost instantly ruined by the memories of the voice Harry and himself had heard the night before. Assurance that he wasn't the sole person hearing voices was a fleeting relief, with the unavoidable reality that _only_ Harry and Sephiroth had heard the voice. Lockhart had been in his office with them and for he was a pompous imbecile, in Sephiroth's opinion (and the opinion of many others), he wasn't deaf by a long shot. Bad hearing didn't allow him to hear a conversation about signed photos before Sephiroth could spot him.

The concern grew into a type of obsession thought process that always, no matter how hard he tried to distract himself with reading (Hermione was confused, but delighted), circled back to the voice. Even worse was his distraction over Shinra, whose allusiveness was truly starting to concern him. Eventually—over the period of about five hours—he could ignore the mounting dread no longer, and turned to parchment and ink.

He wrote a quick letter to Aerith, as she seemed very levelheaded and he had spoken to her frequently enough, both last year and the current one. He downplayed the problem by a good deal, because he only wanted some advice to calm his nerves, not to stir panic.

He sent the letter before lunch.

Three hours later, not only Aerith—but Zack and Cloud, as well—turned up in person at Hogwarts.

Sephiroth was enjoying a snack in the Great Hall when they arrived, conversing with Hermione and trying to avoid the topic of homework. It would more than likely pick up in the following weeks, so Sephiroth would rather enjoy his time without stacks of homework piling up around him. That was when the hall's doors banged open and Aerith, Zack, and Cloud, followed by Professor McGonagall, walked in, looking for the world as though they belonged there.

He choked on his food, taking a full fifteen seconds to regain control over his breathing. Ron reached over and started thumping his back—Harry was gaping in shock.

"Why are they here?" asked Angeal in wide-eyed confusion.

Sephiroth shrank back a little—when he sent that letter, he had expected, at the most, a worried reply. The last thing he anticipated was all three of them actually visiting Hogwarts. On top of that, he hadn't told the others he sent a letter to Aerith. He hadn't known if Harry would want him to, but it had bothered him enough that he went and sent it anyway. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, which really should have clued him in. Almost everything that seemed like a good idea turned out to be a very bad one later on.

The few clusters of students hanging out in the Great Hall stared and muttered in confusion—they were focusing on Cloud and Zack, who were just as striking as Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal, with their sharp glowing eyes and Cloud's gravity-defying spikes—and the professors were holding back their tempers. Professor McGonagall demanded what they thought they were doing, sounding vaguely offended.

Following close behind her was Professor Snape, looking incredibly displeased in a way that might have seemed normal, but it was filled with a greater dose of suspicion than usual. His dark eyes didn't leave Cloud or Zack for a moment, nor did he relax for a moment, even when Aerith smiled amiably at him.

When Zack, Aerith, and Cloud zeroed in on Sephiroth, he tried to make himself as small as possible, and even considered ducking right under the table. He hoped they didn't make a big spectacle out of dragging him from the hall to question him—they could show a little subtlety and maybe the incident would be swept under the rug—

" _Yo, Seph!_ " Zack yelled, waving exuberantly. "We got your letter!"

Embarrassment warred with an unfamiliar kind of warmth, and Sephiroth didn't realize how much he'd missed them until that moment. He couldn't bring himself to face-palm, even when Zack shoved by Professor McGonagall to fully walk into the Great Hall.

"What letter?" said Harry, turning to Sephiroth in bewilderment.

"Nothing much," Sephiroth mumbled in reply.

"It was enough for them to barge into the school," said Genesis, grinning and leaning across the table to get a better look at Sephiroth. Everything about his expression was teasing. "Helicopter parents?"

" _Shut up_ ," hissed Sephiroth.

"And I thought the Howler was bad," said Ron out of the corner of his mouth.

It was hard to be upset over them showing so much concern, especially when Sephiroth had grown up without parents or anyone to care for him. He had tried to word his letter so it would cause the _least_ amount of worry as possible, but that must have failed. He felt a little guilty for making them rush all the way to Hogwarts.

Cloud had crossed the Great Hall while they were talking—leaving Professor McGonagall calling after him in outrage—coming to a stop directly behind Sephiroth and Harry. Nothing about his face seemed particularly worried or angry, so Sephiroth hoped he wouldn't make a big deal out of the letter. Except, if Cloud wasn't overly worried, he wouldn't have paid Hogwarts a visit with Zack and Aerith. So, that meant there was probably a good deal of concern hidden away.

"Sephiroth, Harry—let's go," said Cloud, before Sephiroth could get his vocal cords working. When he noticed Harry and Sephiroth's nonplussed faces, he added, "Don't worry, I don't think it's anything serious. But it's always best to be safe with these kinds of things."

Harry blinked once, glanced at Sephiroth, and then everything seemed to clink in his mind.

"These kinds of . . . you told them about that . . . what we heard last night?" he said, sounding almost perturbed.

"Which was a good thing," said Cloud, giving Harry a look that clearly stated he knew what Harry was thinking, and that he didn't approve. "We're not going to flip out over everything, but hearing voices is . . . should be looked into."

"You have a way with words," said Genesis, his voice heavy with sarcasm, earning him a sharp kick from Angeal.

Zack had broken away from Professor McGonagall and Snape—neither of them looked any less unhappy about the visitors than they were five minutes ago— and ambled up to where Sephiroth and Harry remained seated, still half in shock. He gave them each an easy grin, just as carefree as he was every other day.

"I still can't believe how much you eat!" he said, shaking his head. "Man, I thought I packed it away. . . . So, you guys coming or what?"

"Coming?" echoed Harry.

"We're heading to the Hospital Wing," said Cloud, although the furrowing in his eyebrows told Sephiroth that he would rather go anywhere else.

Sephiroth reluctantly dragged his eyes over to Professor Snape. Last time he went to the hospital with Professor Snape, he had asked for blood samples and had been very blunt about his distrust of Sephiroth and Genesis. He had wanted to study their blood to learn more about their enhanced abilities, believing them a threat to the other ( _normal_ ) students. Madam Pomfrey had stopped him, though, and Sephiroth doubted Professor Snape would be bold enough to try anything similar with Cloud, Zack, and Aerith in earshot.

With that in mind, Sephiroth and Harry got up. The others moved to follow suit, but Cloud stopped them.

"Only Sephiroth and Harry for now," he said. "You can see them later, but it's better we keep this as simple as possible."

"You heard him," said Zack. "Don't worry, we won't take long."

"I'm not worried," Genesis grumbled.

Sephiroth and Harry left their seats almost in unison, trying and failing to ignore the way the other students' eyes seemed to bore holes into their backs. As soon as they were outside the Great Hall, the doors swinging shut heavily behind them, the forced tranquility Professor Snape had been struggling to maintain instantly dropped.

"If you would pardon my bluntness—"

He almost certainly could care less if they were offended by his bluntness.

"—what the _devil_ do you think you're doing? Barging into the school—with no warning—this is a place of education, not a playground—"

"And it's also the weekend, so chill out," said Zack. "We just need to talk to Sephiroth and Harry."

Professor Snape and McGonagall didn't move an inch.

"He meant in _private_ ," said Cloud, his tone allowing no room for argument.

"All due respect," said Professor McGonagall stiffly, "they are our students. As such, their health and safety is our concern as much as it is yours."

"That is true," said Aerith gently, "but this is a very private matter. It will not affect their studies, so I'll ask if you will allow us privacy."

Sephiroth watched them, nothing short of nonplussed as Professor McGonagall seemed to war with herself. Listening to Hermione and Genesis argue about his eating and manners while he sat across from them had nothing on what he was witnessing at the moment. Aerith's placid, benevolent smile didn't falter for a moment. If either of the professors glared any more, there would be literal sparks flying between them.

Professor McGonagall's hawk-like eyes flitted from their faces, to Sephiroth and Harry, and back. Snape visibly seethed, until he seemed to immediately calm down, drawing into himself and smoothing his expression over. It was almost unnerving, how Snape could go from downright furious to utterly expressionless in a matter of seconds. The way he looked now, Sephiroth half expected him to make a dry comment on Harry's last abysmal attempt at brewing a potion.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall slowly. "I assume you'll be moving to the hospital, as you stated earlier?"

"That's right," said Cloud, ushering Sephiroth and Harry along, both of whom were still unable to do little more than gape. "We'll talk to you later."

They breezed right by Professor McGonagall and Snape without another word. Sephiroth could only imagine how furious Snape looked once they turned the corner.

Harry looked as though he was starting to enjoy the irritation Cloud, Zack, and Aerith were causing Snape, and Sephiroth understood why he did. Last potions class, Snape had vanished all of Harry's potion because it was too runny and, what he claimed to be, the worst in the entire class. This was an obvious lie—Sephiroth had seen Goyle's potion, smoking dangerously and letting out a noxious fume that made his head ache—and Harry was rightfully irritated at Snape for it.

Once they turned another corner and were out of earshot of the professors, Zack let out a highly amused chuckle.

"Good going, sweet-talking them, Aerith," he said.

"I didn't sweet talk them," Aerith protested lightly.

"Whatever—it worked," said Zack, before he turned a questioning look at Sephiroth and Harry. "That Snape guy—he's one of your professors, right? He seemed pretty . . ."

"Rude?" suggested Harry without a second of hesitation. "Unfair?"

"I was going to say ornery," Zack replied with a snort. "What's his deal? Did you guys stir up trouble in his class or something?"

"Maybe it's the hair," said Zack, reaching over to ruffle Harry's wild hair. "In all seriousness, though—it's highly unlikely he hates you. People don't just hate other people for no reason. Maybe there's something you're missing. I'm not going to justify it—but it's something to think about."

"Oh," said Harry, sounding stumped.

"Is he the same way with you?" asked Cloud to Sephiroth.

"Um—no," said Sephiroth, the question catching him unaware. "He mostly ignores me."

They continued down the corridors, Harry and Sephiroth occasionally directing them toward the Hospital Wing, since none of them knew the layout of the school. Sephiroth was sure Zack and Aerith were trying to make them feel better by keeping the conversation lighthearted, but he would really prefer they got to the reason for their visit. There was no avoiding the topic of hearing voices that wanted to kill people—a detail he probably should have left out, but he had no way of knowing their response would be coming to Hogwarts—and it didn't help Sephiroth's nerves in the least.

He realized their going to the hospital meant that Madam Pomfrey would meet Cloud, Zack, and Aerith for the first time. For nearly a whole minute, Sephiroth tried to picture how that interaction would go down, but failed. He missed the false step heading up to the hospital and would have fallen, but Cloud caught his arm before his face could smack onto the ground.

"Are those all over the school?" asked Zack, eyeing the fake step.

"Yeah," said Sephiroth sourly. "There's fake doors and portraits, too."

"Portraits?" said Cloud.

"They're doors, but they're paintings instead of normal doors," said Sephiroth.

"What?"

"We use them for short-cuts sometimes," Harry explained. "The entrance to the Gryffindor common room is a portrait."

"There's also a poltergeist," said Sephiroth.

"Peeves," said Zack, nodding. "Yeah, I remember you telling us about him."

"Is that Gilderoy Lockhart man still being a nuisance?" asked Aerith. "You remembered what I said, right? If he bothers you any more, some of my herbal remedies will do the trick!"

"Um, about that," said Harry anxiously. "Those remedies aren't . . . fatal, are they?"

"Of course not!" said Aerith, looking surprised. "They're just enough to put him down for a couple days."

"He was the man doing book signings in Diagon Alley, wasn't he?" said Cloud, not caring to remember. It was something Sephiroth could respect, even if he still held a grudge over Cloud and Zack for laughing instead of saving him from Lockhart's grasp that day.

"He's terrible," said Sephiroth, never one to hold back while disparaging against Lockhart. "For his first class he had us do a pop quiz full of questions only about _him_ , and then he released a bunch of Cornish Pixies into the classroom—"

"Cornish what?" asked Cloud.

"I'm fairly certain what I'm picturing is wrong," said Zack.

"They're these purple fairy things with teeth," said Harry.

"Definitely not what you were imagining," Aerith laughed.

"They scratch a lot," said Sephiroth. "And they kept pulling my hair. They tried to fly Neville up to the chandelier, and then they knocked over most of the desks. Lockhart left us to clean up the mess."

Even after having a whole week to complain among his friends and rehash how much they (minus Hermione) hated Lockhart, Sephiroth still got annoyed just thinking about it. He had told Cloud, Zack, and Aerith about Lockhart in passing in his letters, but now that they were in the school, in person—they were three fresh new ears for him to rant into.

It was only after they reached the Hospital Wing, Sephiroth and Harry filling them in with every reason why they should loathe Gilderoy Lockhart, that Sephiroth realized they had successfully taken his mind off the main issue. He couldn't help but wonder if they had done that on purpose.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised—" Madam Pomfrey was bustling around the hospital in a foul mood. Apparently a couple sixth years had shown up with multiple goat horns and a couple new eyeballs, and she had spent most of the morning and afternoon curing them. "One of these days they'll learn to read the side-affects—sit here."

She directed Sephiroth toward a cot that was already set up.

"I'm not here for anything," said Sephiroth. He glanced back at Cloud. "Why are we here again?"

"Nonsense," snapped Madam Pomfrey without giving Cloud the chance to get a word edgewise. "Might as well make sure you're gaining weight—"

"It's only been a week," Sephiroth pointed out, but it was useless.

"I've never seen a child with such a fast metabolism," said Madam Pomfrey, eyeing Cloud, Zack, and Aerith in a way that made it clear she was fully aware they knew something, and she wanted full disclosure. "He burns through food so quickly, and then through all the reserves he doesn't have. What's the boy eating at home?"

She launched through several questions that she had already asked Sephiroth, and he resigned himself to staying in the hospital for the better part of the day. Sometimes he had the feeling Madam Pomfrey found him a mystery she wanted to solve, but never managed to figure him out. Her interrogation ended when she had to check on the sixth years from before, who had returned because the goat horns had regrown. Sephiroth held pity for the sixth years despite their unsupervised, and foolish, experimenting. He wouldn't wish an irate Madam Pomfrey on anyone.

"She cares at lot," said Sephiroth, feeling the need to stand up for her. He remembered those dark hours after waking in the chamber with the Mirror of Erised, confused and horror-struck, and Madam Pomfrey had held him close without reservation. She hadn't cared he was covered in blood that wasn't his own, hadn't even batted an eye—and it had helped him, more than she might ever know.

He noticed their softened and empathetic gazes, as if they already knew what he was thinking, and immediately felt awkward. There was a plethora of emotions directed at him, from hope and sympathy, to a kind of relief that was so strong it was almost crushing. They good memories, the bad ones—Sephiroth was sure they understood what went on his mind more than he did himself.

It was more than a little frustrating, knowing they kept that information away from him on purpose, but he could accept the fact they had their reasons.

"That voice you heard," said Cloud. "What did it sound like, exactly? Gender, age, tone—anything."

"It was . . ." Sephiroth tried to pinpoint exactly how the voice sounded. "It was sort of . . ."

"Blank," said Harry when Sephiroth trailed off. "I mean, not blank, but—it's hard to explain. It was evil, I'm sure of it, and it really wanted to kill someone."

"You think we might have jumped the gun with this?" asked Zack, his voice quiet enough that Harry probably had to strain to hear, but Sephiroth had no issue. "It doesn't sound like what we were afraid it might be."

"What did you think it was?" asked Sephiroth.

"It's a long story," said Zack. "Don't worry about it."

"Can't you tell us at least something about it?" said Harry, looking even more frustrated than Sephiroth. "What did you think that voice was? Why were you so worried about it?"

Sephiroth could pinpoint the exact moment when everything that didn't make make sense to himself, suddenly lined up into neat and even rows for Harry. His eyes widened and he sat up a little straighter.

"Is it something to do with your pre—your pasts?" said Harry, correcting himself before he could say anything too revealing in a public area.

Zack gave a sigh, scratching the back of his head as the looked up to the ceiling, slightly taken aback.

"Man, you're a little too perceptive," he said. He glanced at Aerith and Cloud. "What do you think?"

"It does have to do with the past," said Cloud bluntly, his sharp blue eyes fastened on Harry and Sephiroth, unwavering. "Sometimes the past is harder to let go of than you may think . . . and sometimes the past clings onto you. In this case, you kids should really just let us handle it."

"Exactly," said Aerith firmly. "We came here purely as a precaution—you can never be too safe. However, since Harry heard it as well, I believe most of our worries can be put to rest."

"So if it was just me," said Sephiroth flatly, "it would be perfectly okay to panic?"

"No, that's not what—of course not," said Zack.

"That came out wrong," said Aerith apologetically. "We probably did you a lot of concern, showing up like this. It wasn't our intention, but . . ."

"There's a lot of things we don't know," said Cloud, earning him a faintly surprised look from Zack and Aerith.

Sephiroth had a feeling they weren't exactly at agreement with exactly what they were and weren't going to tell, and Cloud never struck him as the type to keep secrets. Neither did Zack and Aerith, but they still seemed to be more inclined to keeping things away from him.

"Sephiroth, you did _not_ appear where we thought you would. The reincarnation was planned beforehand, and you turned up late by two years. We still don't know why."

"Cloud . . .?" Aerith sounded concerned.

"There's no point beating around the bush," said Cloud. "Lying's never helped, either. Sephiroth—"

Sephiroth jolted at the sudden mention of his name, snapping his around from Aerith and Zack to Cloud.

"The short story is that you have a reason to worry about hearing voices," said Cloud. "The likelihood of the creature we're talking about having followed us is very slim—most of it was gone and destroyed. We still need to be careful, because the slightest bit of it could cause trouble in the long run."

"What are you talking about?" asked Sephiroth, terrified of the answer and unsure why he said anything in the first place.

"It was a creature that haunted your life before," said Cloud, quiet and solemn. "If it was to appear again, it could ruin you and you need to know that. However . . . you shouldn't let it bother you."

After hearing all of that, Sephiroth just wanted to know how he wasn't supposed to be bothered by any of it. Hearing about a creature that had possibly followed them over from their previous lives, which could speak in his mind, and could "ruin him," would likely give him nightmares. He hoped the dream-catcher Neville gave him kept working. After hearing that, he was going to be in turmoil for a while. It made him wonder why he ever wanted to know about his past life at all. He definitely remembered not caring at some point.

"I mean it—don't obsess over the past," said Cloud, drawing Sephiroth attention back to the conversation. "Moving forward—it's not as hard as it seems."

Zack laughed, flinging an arm around Cloud's shoulders, which was an action Cloud looked as though he could have done without.

"Look at that, finally warming up to them, aren't you?" said Zack, sounding far cheerier than the atmosphere allowed for.

Cloud endured Zack's arm around his shoulders for another moment before shrugging him off, something Zack took in strides. Sephiroth was fairly sure this was all very normal for them, seeing as Aerith didn't bat an eye and Cloud was nonchalant as ever.

"Honestly, Seph," said Zack, "sometimes I think you and Genesis and Angeal have all got it better than the rest of us. Not remembering may be confusing—annoying, even—but . . . Sometimes, there's nothing wrong with leaving the past where it is."

The conversation broke off for awhile when Madam Pomfrey returned, having finally cured the sixth years of their goat horns and looking all the happier for it. She checked Sephiroth over, giving her wand a flick right at his chest level as if looking for something specific.

"Well, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you," said Madam Pomfrey, pulling away and stowing her wand in her apron. "I understand you find your way into the hospital frequently, but honestly, boy—don't lounge around in here! This is a hospital, not the grounds!"

"Ah, sorry about that," said Zack. "We brought them here."

"Yes, I could see that," said Madam Pomfrey, very unimpressed.

"Before we leave," said Aerith, looking imploringly at Madam Pomfrey, "would you mind if I take a look at your stores? I'd like to see the potions used for healing. I've got a few potions of my own that I can make, but it's always nice to learn new things . . ."

They walked off toward Madam Pomfrey's supply closet, where she kept most of her potions. Despite Madam Pomfrey's surly mood—something Sephiroth attributed to the amount of students coming and going from the hospital, mostly from injuries done by themselves—she and Aerith seemed to get along perfectly fine. It helped that Aerith seemed to understand the medical lingo that Madam Pomfrey was spouting at record speeds. That and when she didn't know something, Aerith was perfectly fine with listening to the explanation.

"Sorry if it seems our reactions were knee-jerk," said Zack sheepishly. "However, I was kind of looking for an excuse to come here. A magical school and all. Harry, do you know when the first Quidditch match of the season is? I think I asked in a letter awhile back . . ."

They left the hospital, leaving Aerith pouring over the potions and ingredients with Madam Pomfrey—they claimed she would likely be there awhile and waiting would be tedious—and headed toward the school grounds.

"Aerith's pretty tough on her own," Zack stated as they narrowly avoided being dive-bombed by Peeves, "and she doesn't like us trying to baby her."

"She offered to poison Lockhart," said Sephiroth, trying not to sound as if he was interested in the offer. He wouldn't mind seeing Lockhart keel over for a couple days. Nothing permanent, just—a week or two without Lockhart would have been nice.

"We haven't run into him yet," said Cloud, looking down at Sephiroth. "Is he teaching a class?"

"It's the weekend," Sephiroth reminded him. "He's probably signing more pictures of himself."

"Or serenading himself," Harry added, instantly grimacing.

They passed through the entrance hall, where students were milling around, heading in and out of the castle grounds. The fifth and sixth years were already drowning under piles of homework, and Sephiroth was immensely gladdened that he wasn't one of them. A little voice in the back of his head told him that, in four years, he would most likely be the same. He ignored that little voice.

"Where's the enchanted ceiling?" said Cloud casually, looking anywhere but at Sephiroth and Harry.

"It's in the Great Hall," said Sephiroth blithely. "But we've already been in there to eat awhile ago, so—"

"We can stop by," said Harry with a grin. "Ron and the others are probably still waiting."

"Are you sure?" asked Sephiroth. "They might've moved into the courtyard."

Harry threw Sephiroth a withering look that begged for no arguments, before directing Cloud toward the Great Hall. After a couple moments of thought, Sephiroth realized Cloud had wanted to get a look at the enchanted ceiling again. While he had been able to see it in passing while he was collecting Sephiroth and Harry, there hadn't been much of a chance for him to observe it closer. The enchanted ceiling was something marvelous to behold, so Sephiroth couldn't blame him for wanting a second glance. Although, he wished Cloud would be a little more obvious with what he wanted.

Once they were under the enchanted sky, which was a clear blue color that day with a few wisps of clouds passing through, Cloud and Zack started asking questions. Harry did his best to answer all of them, sounding a lot like he was emulating Hermione every time he rehearsed something directly from _Hogwarts, A History_.

They stopped by a couple of the enchanted sets of armor, Zack taking great amusement in the way the armor would salute and mime responses to any statement or question.

Aerith caught up to them as they were heading for the grounds, a couple rolls of parchment tucked under her arms and looking bright-eyed. The parchments were full of magical ingredients and recipes for some common potions, such as a pepper-up and a headache relief, along with a couple more complicated ones.

"They're so specific," said Aerith, stepping out into the dappled sunlight with them. "I wouldn't be surprised if there's an individual potion for mending every single bone in the human body. There's no limit to the time you've got to apply the potions, either—with the exception of some of the more serious injuries, because the remedies need to be applied instantly—and most of them are incredibly speedy, take little to no energy on the healer's part—"

Cloud and Zack exchanged a look and, wordless as it was, Sephiroth could read it easily. It was a look Harry and himself had done many times, when they set Hermione off on a passionate rant about her studies.

 _We have made a terrible mistake_.

They found Genesis, Angeal, Hermione, and Ron sitting out in the courtyard. Hermione was reading another of her Lockhart books, while everyone else looked bored out of their minds. As soon as they noticed Sephiroth and Harry, their faces brightened.

"Right about time," said Genesis. "The weekend is almost over and what're you doing? Wandering around aimlessly—"

"They were only gone about an hour and half," said Angeal, cutting him off.

"And there's nothing wrong with showing Mr. Strife and Mr. Fair around," said Hermione, slipping her book into her bag.

Zack gave a laugh that bordered on dismayed.

"Just—call us Zack and Cloud, okay?" he said. "Mr. Fair makes me feel . . . old."

"So, what was wrong?" asked Genesis sharply. "Were they in trouble or something, or what? Is this about the car thing, because that was more than a week ago and everyone's over it—"

"Nah, nothing like that," said Zack. "But speaking of the car—have you guys found it? I wanted to get a look at it."

"It's, ah . . . still missing in action," said Genesis, seeming very interesting in the courtyard. Then he looked up sharply at Cloud and Zack. "Wait, I thought you two were Muggles."

"Well, I haven't accidentally turned my boss's hair purple yet, so . . . I guess not?"

That tumbled downward into a conversation about Zack's random jobs, most of which ended with him being fired for one reason or another. ("I was just trying to help marketing—"; "Zack, you cannot make dozens of florescent-bright company shirts and expect the customers to wear them, just because they were free.") Most of his jobs seemed to end because Zack's energy level didn't work in his favor.

"I didn't know parents were allowed to visit the school," said Genesis, frowning. "Or guardians. Same difference, except without the related part."

"What's wrong with that?" asked Zack.

Ron shuddered, glancing at the main entrance as if he expected to see someone marching through at that moment.

"Nothing at all," he said. "Just—realizing Mum could actually follow through on some of her threats."

Cloud, Zack, and Aerith stayed for awhile longer, having a couple places of interest they wanted to see before they left. After stopping by the greenhouses, which they weren't allowed inside of while Professor Sprout wasn't around, they visited the Quidditch pitch—the Slytherins were practicing, so they quickly did an about-face before a fight could break out—and as evening was falling, they returned to the entrance hall.

"Cloud," said Sephiroth, as Zack and Aerith were talking to everyone else. "If—If that creature you were talking about _did_ manage to survive, and it started affecting me—"

"It didn't—"

"But if it _did,_ " Sephiroth said insistently, "do you think I . . . could fight it off? Could I do it?"

Cloud watched him for several long moments, as if scrutinizing his every word and motion. And then he was smiling, little more than a curve of his lips, but a smile nonetheless.

"You've got plenty to fight for," he said.

Sephiroth, Harry, and the others saw Cloud, Zack, and Aerith off. They had an incredibly long drive ahead of them and wanted to be back to the house before morning of the next day. It wasn't until they were gone that Genesis noticed a rather blaring mystery.

"How did they get here?"

"What?" said Ron.

"Sephiroth, when did you send that letter again?"

Sephiroth never managed to fully theorize how they might have gotten to Hogwarts within three or four hours of him sending a letter. They ran into Professor Snape soon after Cloud, Zack, and Aerith took their leave of Hogwarts, who waspishly ordered them indoors under threat of lost points and a detention. Sephiroth wouldn't put it passed Snape to put him in another detention with Lockhart, so he wasn't about to test Snape's patience. That, and it was nearing dinner and he was hungry.

"Notice how Lockhart's been missing all day?" said Ron.

"Now that you mention it, yeah," said Harry. "I bet he was scared off."

"He'll probably come out of hiding soon," Sephiroth said regretfully.

Sleep was hard to come by that night, having so much to think over. Despite their continued assurances that there was nothing to worry about, Sephiroth knew his letter had unintentionally set off some kind of alarm bell in their minds. And if he was entirely honest, the talk of a creature that could influence minds, perhaps even bending people to its will, still frightened him.

The next week was spent searching for Shinra and trying to shove the memory of the creature that even Cloud was cautious of into a box, and then dumping that box into a mental ocean. He didn't succeed in the slightest, nor did he find hide or hair of Shinra. As the last day of the weekend drew to the close, Sephiroth was reduced to nearly ripping his hair out in panic, his mind filled with awful scenarios of what could have happened to his cat after Shinra ran off on him.

The first assignments of homework were doled out in the second week. Sephiroth shoved them into his bag to do later (he would probably end up cramming them into a half-hour study session with Hermione the day before they were due to be turned in) and used up all of his free time searching for Shinra. Looking passed the fact Shinra was his first and only pet—and despite Shinra's habit of clawing Sephiroth's arms when there was no food available, he was fond of the cat—he needed a pet for Professor McGonagall's class. He could tell she was getting irritated with have to lend him school animals, and he refused to show up to class with one of Hagrid's chickens.

During potions, which they still shared with the Slytherins, Sephiroth almost dropped the wrong ingredient into the potion five times before Draco—apparently Professor Snape had decided not to fix something that worked out alright the year before—snapped at him to stop spacing out and pay attention.

"What is your issue?" said Draco, grabbing Sephiroth's wrist before he could pour in a whole cup of the powdered ingredient, instead of the one spoonful the recipe called for.

"Shinra is missing," said Sephiroth back quietly as Snape prowled passed two Gryffindors, looming over their shoulders. It wasn't only Shinra, but between hearing voices and worrying about mind-stealing creatures (his imagination might have gotten carried away over the past week) from different worlds, he was having a very hard time focusing. Not that he was going to tell Draco all of that.

"Who?"

" _My cat_ ," hissed Sephiroth, "is missing!"

One of the benefits of being partnered with Draco was that Sephiroth could get away with raising his voice slightly, and Snape would usually avoid him. Professor Snape seemed highly against punishing Draco in any way, shape, or form, which was something that extended to most of the Slytherin students. It was to the point he would blatantly ignore outrageous behavior from them in favor of hounding in on the Gryffindor students—in particular, Harry.

"When did it go missing?" asked Draco, refusing to meet Sephiroth's eyes. The helpful tone in his voice seemed slightly unlike him, considering he was the one who had reminded Sephiroth time after time that they weren't friends.

" _He_ went missing the night we arrived," Sephiroth replied cautiously, slanting a glance at Draco's expression. He looked conflicted, but Sephiroth had never been very good at reading him.

"He's been missing two weeks and you're just now panicking?" said Draco flatly—he continued before Sephiroth could sharply retort about certain distractions. "Have you searched the grounds?"

Sephiroth reigned in the urge to reply sarcastically— _of course_ he searched the grounds—in favor of the fact Draco was holding a conversation with him for the first time since Harry's Quidditch practice.

At the time, Sephiroth had felt very confused and angry. Ron was cursed, the Slytherins were cruel to Hermione and himself, and they had felt the need to make a nuisance of themselves for no real reason. He could look back now and acknowledge that Draco hadn't actually partook in any of those actions, except perhaps the making himself a nuisance by interrupting the practice session. Sephiroth hadn't searched Draco out in the Slytherin team after Ron was cursed—but he was almost certain Draco wasn't laughing.

"I've searched the grounds and all the places I'm familiar with in the castle," said Sephiroth. "I've gone through some of the secret passages, too—but I haven't found Shinra anywhere. It's not like him to wander off for so long. . . . Cats are prone to wandering, but Shinra's always stuck close to me."

"Look, I've . . . got a free period after Potions," said Draco, looking anywhere but at Sephiroth and seeming quietly furious for it. It was a bizarre mix of emotions that had Sephiroth casting him a wide-eyed look. "If you need help looking—you need a pet, and I know I've said you look annoying when you're moping—"

"I'm _not_ moping—" Sephiroth cut himself off. "Wait, you'll help?"

"Don't look all hopeful—"

Sephiroth was fairly certain his expression was surprise with a dash of suspicion, rather than hopeful.

"—I've just got a free period is all, and I already finished my homework—and you've got nothing after this, too, right?"

Sephiroth wasn't going to refuse an offer of help, so while Hermione roped Harry and Ron into a studying session and Genesis pretended to care, whilst hiding Loveless behind a tome, he went out to search for Shinra. The search lasted for several weeks, resulting in nothing, and eventually Sephiroth started to think he wasn't going to see his cat again. It took him about the same amount of time to realize Draco had, at some point, memorized his schedule.

He might have followed that train of curiosity a little longer, but October brought on a host of new things to distract him. First and foremost being Halloween, something that always ended in misfortune for him. Last year was the troll and the missed feast (he was mostly disappointed over the food portion), and he could only hope that whatever happened come present Halloween, it wouldn't be so disastrous.

October seemed to be the official end of summer-like weather, the air cooling rapidly and the days full of rain and clouds. The drop in temperature didn't bother Sephiroth, but he could have done without the days upon days of gloom. On top of that, sickness had spread through the castle, and just about every student barring Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal were suffering from a sniffle or a mild cough. There were a few who caught rougher illnesses at had to go to Madam Pomfrey for a fever, which was something that was afflicting Hermione.

Instead of going to the hospital, Hermione was studying in the common room with Harry and Ron, who were doing their homework without her having to tell them for once. They would occasionally ask to take a glance at her notes, but nothing that was overly reliant, and she was happy for it.

Because of that, she wasn't willing to part with them long enough to visit Madam Pomfrey for a pepper-up potion.

"It'll only take a couple minutes to go there and back," said Sephiroth when she sneezed for the fifth time.

"Yeah," said Ron, looking up from his work. "That sounds nasty."

"I know, it's making a racket," said Genesis, trying to sound irritated and not quite succeeding. "Have you heard the sounds your lungs are making?"

"Genesis," sighed Angeal, "it's alright to express your concern for a friend like a normal person."

"Who said I was worried?" snapped Genesis.

Sephiroth, who had been stuck reading the same paragraph for the last half an hour, decided this would be an excellent opportunity to take a break from studying.

"I'll go fetch one," he said, the book already closed and parchment shoved aside.

The rain was thundering against the castle windows as he made his way to the hospital, a torrent flooding down the grounds that was visible through the rivulets of water. Sephiroth hurried down the corridors—peering around portraits and inside of suits of armor, at the off chance of finding his cat—and found he didn't mind going to the hospital nearly as much when he wasn't the reason for the visit.

He rounded a corner and was taken completely off guard by the sight of Lockhart, head bowed over a stack of letters he was reading one by one. Sephiroth ducked back before Lockhart could catch sight of him, briefly considering running in the opposite direction and finding a different path to the hospital, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a sharp _psst_.

A boy with dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses was hiding behind a large, hanging tapestry.

"Behind here—quick," he said.

Sephiroth measured running into Lockhart against hiding with a complete stranger, and chose the later. The wall behind the tapestry dipped inward into a small alcove, enough for the both of them to fit. The boy was taller than Sephiroth and lanky, having to duck to avoid the top of the alcove, his hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

They both stood in utter silence, hardly daring to breathe for fear Lockhart might find them, and stayed that way for about two minutes until Lockhart finally ambled by. When he was well gone and out of hearing distance, Sephiroth pushed the heavy cloth aside and stepped out into the corridor. He hadn't known the tapestries had anything hiding behind them. Perhaps Shinra had gotten lost behind one of them. . . .

"That was close," said the boy—Sephiroth could see the Ravenclaw badge now that he wasn't in the dark alcove—as he wiped a sheen of nervous perspiration from his forehead. "That man is a nightmare, honestly."

"He is," said Sephiroth, nodding in agreement.

"Lockhart's something of a joke to us in Ravenclaw," said the boy with a weak laugh. "I'm Azra Spriggan, by the way. . . . Eh, you may remember me."

"I do?" said Sephiroth blankly.

Azra gave another awkward laugh.

"Well, I mean—I was the kid that fell out of seat trying to get a look at you and your brother last year," he said. "Um, at the end of the year, when you guys . . . you know. And we bumped into each other in Diagon Alley earlier this year."

"Oh," said Sephiroth, and tried to sound as though any of those moments jogged his memory. He couldn't recall either of them for the life of him. "I'm Sephiroth Crescent."

He kicked himself—of _course_ Azra knew who he was, if he could remember those moments from ages ago, he could probably remember the Headmaster announcing his name in front of the entire school—and wracked his mind for a hasty retreat.

"Well, I'm off," said Azra. "I'm working on a project for Ancient Runes. It's a paralyzing thing and—yeah. Um. Just a heads up for when you're a fifth year—the professors are brutal. See you later, then."

Azra walked off without another word, leaving Sephiroth absolutely bewildered. Aside from the ominous warning about the workload for fifth years, he didn't remember making plans to talk to Azra again. It suddenly occurred to Sephiroth that he was probably another Colin Creevey, and that he should probably avoid conversation with Azra at all costs.

He shook his head and resumed his fast pace towards the hospital. Hermione needed a pepper-up, preferably before she worked herself into a coma. Sephiroth had to explain to Madam Pomfrey that he wasn't at the hospital for an injury of any kind.

He returned to the Gryffindor common room minutes later, Azra Spriggan all but forgotten.

* * *

 **A/N: So, this was another one of those chapters were the characters didn't exactly do what I told them to. Then again, hearing voices is serious business.**

 **Guest: I'm really glad Cloud seems in character, his characterization kind of alluded me for awhile. (Hopefully he's still in-character in this chapter and on, too XD).**

 **Guest: ...You know, I'm not sure if Sephiroth even knows what sexual harassment is. I've actually thought about that. (And I totally agree, Lockhart's a creep). Seph really should have slipped something in Lockhart's drink, but I think he was too busy being horrified over all the adoring letters to even think about it XD**

 **Thanks for all your favorites, follows, and reviews! Until next week!**


	12. Chapter 12

12

The rain didn't let up in the next couple weeks. On the rare days when the sky was visible, students could be seen outside, soaking in what little rays of light they could before the clouds descended again. Despite the raucous weather, Oliver Wood didn't let up on Quidditch practice for a second, pushing the team even harder as the rain pounded down over them.

Sephiroth wished, for his own sake as well as Harry's, that Wood would go a little easier on the practices. Almost every practice ended with Sephiroth and Harry heading back to the castle soaking wet, the latter smeared in mud and trying in vain to wipe clean his fogged glasses.

They were accompanied by the Gryffindor team, who wanted to be rid of the mud and rain just as much as Sephiroth and Harry. Fred and George were both very vocal about their dislike of the draconian practices, while Katie, Alicia, and Angelina would throw Wood the occasional glare. Wood himself was bright-eyed from a long, hard Quidditch practice. Sephiroth thought Wood needed some mental guidance to help him get over his Quidditch obsession.

"We're doomed as long as they have those brooms," said George for what had to be the tenth time, as they finally reached the castle.

Waiting for them were Genesis, Angeal, Hermione, and Ron—neither of them had been willing to brave the rain, or in Genesis's case, loudly claimed it was outrageous and Wood needed to lighten up. Sephiroth was inclined to agree with Genesis and he was certain most of the team did as well.

"Still going on about those brooms?" said Genesis, staying a good distance away from them. He was holding _Loveless_ in hand, eyeing them as though dampness was contagious. "I could always set off a fire. Accidentally, of course."

"Would you?" asked Wood hopefully.

"Absolutely not!" snapped Hermione. "You are _not_ vandalizing anyone."

Genesis might have argued, but Angeal backed Hermione and all plans of setting the Slytherins' brooms on fire were quickly dismantled. The rest of the Gryffindor team went their separate ways after that, the girls' heading off to wash up, while Fred and George quickly darted in the opposite direction of the bathrooms. Sephiroth wondered if they had forgotten they were still soaked to the bone and covered in mud, or if they didn't care anymore.

"Why don't you go get dried off?" said Hermione, giving Harry and Sephiroth a sympathetic look. "You both look like you're freezing."

Sephiroth wasn't too cold—his body temperature ran higher than most people—but Harry's lips were turning a dusky color and there were slight shivers wracking his body. He was definitely going to have to convince Wood to either see help about his Quidditch infatuation, or convince him to take the rainy days off. And if it was rainy just about every day, that wasn't Sephiroth's problem.

They parted ways at the Great Hall, Sephiroth and Harry walking as fast as they could along the halls. They didn't want to get caught dripping all over the floors by Filch, who had been in an even worse mood than normal lately. While there was nothing in the rule book against getting soaked in the rain and coming inside to dry off—Sephiroth knew, he had asked Hermione to check—Filch would find a way to get them into detention, purely out of spite.

Halfway to the washroom, they nearly stumbled into Nearly Headless Nick. Sephiroth had to stop himself before he literally walked straight through the ghost. It was somewhat disconcerting how he could neither hear nor smell the ghosts, so the only way he knew they were around was if he could spot them. He was glad none of the professors who cared about abiding by the rules was a ghost, because it would have made sneaking around last year nearly impossible.

Nearly Headless Nick was typically cheerful, always with a quip or some kind of encouragement for the Gryffindor students. He seemed to be a foul mood, though—gazing out a window into the rainy afternoon as if there was something interesting to be seen through the sheets of water pouring over the glass.

Despite being wet and cold, Harry seemed concerned about whatever was bothering Nick, stopping to give a brief hello that Sephiroth echoed.

"Hello, hello," Nick replied, his voice lacking all its usual bluster. He had a smokey letter held in one hand. He glanced at Harry, searching him up and down before adding, "You look troubled, young Potter."

Sephiroth thought Nick looked a lot more troubled than Harry and himself combined, but opted not to say so. He cared about what could have been bothering Nick, but he also cared about Harry's health. Giving the fact Harry was alive and his brother, Harry's health took priority. Even if a pepper-up potion would fix a cold up fairly quickly, Sephiroth would rather Harry didn't fall ill in the first place.

Apparently Nick agreed, because he waved the issue away, his ghostly rings visible on his hand.

"Ah . . . a matter of no importance," he said, looking even more depressed as he said so—Sephiroth realized that maybe Nick wasn't thinking along the same lines as himself—his hand closed around the letter. "It's not as though I really wanted to join. . . . Thought I'd apply, but apparently I don't fulfill requirements—"

There was an explosion building up inside of Nick and Sephiroth suspected they were going to be here longer than he initially anticipated. He glanced at Harry, somewhat relieved to note he seemed to have warmed up a bit. His lips were a normal color and he was no longer shivering. At this rate, they would both be dry before reaching the washroom.

"But you would think, wouldn't you—"

 _Here it comes_ , thought Sephiroth.

He was somewhat disturbed by the imagery of Nick being hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe, morbidly curious how his neck had managed to stay intact even the slightest bit. Even a blunt axe should have done the trick after forty-five hits. Apparently it hadn't and because of that, Nick wasn't allowed to join the Headless Hunt.

Sephiroth had seen the Headless Hunt before, a crowd of ghostly men on horseback, tossing each others' heads around. It wasn't a pleasant sight, especially when they rode into the Great Hall during dinnertime. Not many things would put Sephiroth off his appetite, but that was one of them. He didn't know how Nick planned on joining at all, though—his head was still attached and unless there was a way of detaching a ghostly head (Sephiroth shuddered at the thought), he wouldn't be able to partake in most of the Headless Hunts' games.

Harry was nodding along with what Nick said, looking a little blank.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However—"

Sephiroth really wished Nick would stop talking about how his head was almost-but-not-quite cut off. There was no way Nick could know the kind of images and memories it stirred, but it was unpleasant and made Sephiroth's stomach turn.

"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies," Nick read directly from the letter, his words fast and angry. "You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo."

Sephiroth was going to invest in a pair of earplugs at the nearest opportunity. He did _not_ need those mental images.

After Nick was finished reading the letter out loud, he shoved it back into his pocket. Sephiroth was fairly sure, were the letter not ghostly, it would have torn from the force.

"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Sephiroth tried not to remember how he had successfully decapitated Professor Quirrell last year and didn't quite manage it.

"So—" Nick looked as though he let out all his steam, having been in need of a good rant. Now that it was over, he was significantly less irritable. "What's bothering you two? Anything I can do?"

"Earplugs," said Sephiroth bluntly. "And an umbrella. Could you talk Wood into taking breaks from practice, too?"

"No," said Harry, vetoing everything Sephiroth said, "not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our—"

Sephiroth heard the pattering of clawed feet and lunged around the corner, hoping to see Shinra. He was going to pamper the cat and give him all the food and drinks he wanted in the world, never let Shinra out of his sight again, perhaps beg forgiveness over the car crash that wasn't really his fault—it wasn't his idea to fly a car to school—

And was met with the golden-eyed stare of Mrs. Norris.

Sephiroth's heart sank, both with dread and disappointment, and he quickly rushed back to Harry's side. He was still talking about the Slytherins and their new brooms, Nick listening and nodding and looking just as irate over the entire situation as Harry. Sephiroth grabbed Harry's arm, cutting him off mid-sentence and ignoring his protest.

"Filch is coming," Sephiroth said hastily. "I saw Mrs. Norris."

He gave Nick an apologetic look.

"Sorry, Nick—"

"No, no," said Nick. "It's fine! You'd better get out here, then. Filch isn't in a good mood—"

Filch was hardly ever in a good mood. The only time Sephiroth saw him smile was when he was talking about hanging students by their thumbs with chains.

"—he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place—"

"Right," mumbled Harry. He stopped tugging against Sephiroth's grip, joining the frantic retreat.

Just as they were rounding the corner, Filch ran out of the tapestry they were standing in front of mere seconds ago. Harry caught sight of Filch searching for them, before they were running down another corridor as fast as they could.

They found Nick again after they cleaned up, both of them glad for it. Sephiroth's hair was still damp and would likely remain that way for the rest of the day, but their clothes were dry and warm, which was all that mattered. They were headed down to the Great Hall for dinner and to meet with Genesis, Angeal, Hermione, and Ron, but found Nick lurking around another window, seeming just as morose as when they talked to him last.

"Oh, Harry—Sephiroth," said Nick. "Did you get away from Filch?"

"Yes," said Harry. "I'm sorry about the Headless Hunt, I wish there was something I could do—"

Nick's face lit up like a light bulb, and Sephiroth had a feeling he was going to regret Harry saying that.

"There is one thing you could do for me—" Nick cut himself off, looking unsure. "But no, I would be asking too much—you wouldn't want—"

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," Nick began—and all the regret Sephiroth had known he was going to have crashed down on him. Halloween never ended well for them.

On top of that, Sephiroth wasn't sure what a deathday was supposed to entail.

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons," Nearly Headless Nick continued, unaware of Sephiroth's inner despair. "Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley—er, all of them—and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course—but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?"

Nick looked so hopeful. The Halloween feast, a promise of food and more food, warred with being a good friend and attending Nick's party.

"Will there be food?" asked Sephiroth.

"Of course—"

"We'll come," said Harry.

"My dear boys!" Nearly Headless Nick looked positively elated. "Harry Potter and his brother, at my deathday party! And—do you think you can possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"

Sephiroth wouldn't have anything against mentioning how disturbing the description of Nick's beheading was, even if the request seemed a little odd.

They didn't find Genesis, Angeal, Ron, or Hermione in the Great Hall, so Harry insisted they return to the common room instead of grabbing a bite to eat. Despite the gnawing hunger in Sephiroth's stomach, he went along without much protest. When it came down to it, his friends held far more importance than his appetite ever would (even if that chicken roast had looked _divine_ ), and Harry was eager to tell them about the Deathday invitation.

"You what?" said Genesis to moment they filled everyone in on what happened. His mouth was twitching dangerously. "You agreed to go to a Deathday Party? And because he promised you _food_?"

"That's fascinating," said Hermione, bright-eyed. She had closed her school book and set it aside, showing she was truly invested in the conversation. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those!"

"Yeah, and for a good reason," snapped Genesis, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, have you all forgotten they are _ghosts_? Why the hell would they have food if they don't need it?"

"Aesthetic?" suggested Hermione.

"Sir Nick didn't sound like he was expecting living guests," said Angeal, frowning. "And food, for aesthetic purposes only, is a horrible waste."

"I doubt they care much about waste," Ron pointed out. "Think about it, loads of food is wasted every year during breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"It is?" said Sephiroth, quietly appalled.

The others eyed him speculatively for a moment, before Ron let out a sheepish laugh.

"Maybe not so much with you," he admitted.

"Back to the topic at hand—honestly, you've all got attention span issues—I don't think there's a reason for us to skip the Halloween feast for a Deathday party," said Genesis bluntly. "Find Nick and tell him sorry, but you've grown some common sense and thought better of going—"

"That is _rude_ ," said Hermione waspishly, "and I want to go. Harry, Sephiroth—if you're going, I'll come."

"What?" Genesis exclaimed in outrage.

Hermione threw him a very pointed glare, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"You— _ugh_ ," Genesis huffed, looking away. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Harry smiled at them, looking relieved.

"It's a plan, then," he said.

Later that day, Sephiroth was distracted from his homework by Fred and George, who had sneaked a fire-breathing salamander from the Care of Magical Creatures class. At first they were content with observing it, occasionally searing its footprints into one of the tables they kept it corralled on, but then curiosity set in. Fred and George had a couple Filibuster fireworks on hand and wanted to know what happened, should the fire salamander ingest it.

"Don't do that," Sephiroth urged as they nudged the firework toward the salamander, who seemed genuinely interested in it. "What if it hurts the salamander?"

"They breathe fire," said George.

"A little bit of fireworks aren't going to choke them up too badly," said Fred, snickering as he pushed the firework closer to the salamander.

"But really, why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?"

Sephiroth could hear Ron complaining over his Potions homework, looking as though he'd rather feed the parchment to the salamander.

"Sounds dead depressing to me . . ."

"That was an awful pun, Ron," sighed Genesis.

"Shut it," said Ron. "That was brilliant."

"The pun makes you stop dead in your tracks, doesn't it?" said Angeal.

At their aghast expressions, he broke into laughter.

That was when the salamander finally took the bait, swallowing the firework and immediately swelling nearly double in size. George poked at it with his wand as it sluggishly attempted to walk away—the firework went off, sending sparks flying from its mouth in the shape of stars. The salamander whizzed through the air, leaving puffs of glowing embers trailing behind it, and Sephiroth had to dodge to avoid being smacked directly in the face. Unfortunately, his hair wasn't so lucky, and nearly two feet of it was seared off on one side.

Genesis caught the salamander barehanded before it could dive-bomb his pile of books. He looked incredibly amused over Sephiroth's new haircut, a sentiment that definitely wasn't shared.

"You needed a haircut anyway," he commented.

Sephiroth wanted to argue that Genesis was entirely missing the important part—that his hair was now horribly uneven and it would probably drive him mad until it was fixed—but Percy Weasley had caught sight of the fire-salamander, prompting him to go on a warpath. It had been the same the year before, watching Percy yell and attempt to assert himself as a Prefect, demanding people listened to him. Sephiroth almost felt sorry for him, because he doubted any of Percy's brothers would ever obey a single one of his commands.

Eventually, Percy tried to order them off to bed, something that Ron, Sephiroth, and Harry only obeyed because they wanted to escape their homework. Percy didn't know that, though and he looked incredibly pleased with himself.

Halloween day started off just as Sephiroth expected it, with something particularly unlucky. Such as, running into Pansy Parkinson on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. She looked harried and pale-faced, but when she noticed Sephiroth and Harry and the others, her face twisted into a scowl.

"Get of the way," she snapped, sounding extremely annoyed. "Just perfect, first thing in the morning and I have to see your beastly face."

"You—" Genesis snarled, taking a step forward, but Pansy had already slipped through the Great Hall doors. "I'm going to burn that smug look off her face one of these days."

Sephiroth reached a hand up to his face, half wondering if something had changed overnight. He knew there was nothing different, but when people reacted like that, it was almost unconscious. A part of himself that he routinely shoved away would always be disappointed that even in a world of magic, of the bizarre and unexpected, he was still an outcast.

His thoughts must have showed on his face, because Harry looked furious.

"She's a rotten Slytherin," he said fiercely, tugging Sephiroth's arm and heading toward the Great Hall. "She knows absolutely nothing. Come on, let's get something to eat . . ."

Evening came, the sun invisible behind the foggy horizon, and it was around when Sephiroth started smelling the Halloween feast that he realized how big of a mistake they made, agreeing to go to the deathday party. Hagrid's pumpkins were decorating the hall and Sephiroth was half tempted to launch himself into one of them, since they could easily fit him. If it weren't for the large candles burning away inside of them, he might have done it.

There were dancing skeletons, tapping along their ribs to keep a rhythm going, and the Headless Hunt was doing rounds through the Great Hall, playing games with their decapitated heads. Somehow it was less gruesome than Sephiroth thought it would have been, but that was probably because the light was dim with the candles, so he couldn't see any details.

And then there was the feast, platters of turkey and chicken, pies and vegetables and every food he could think of—Sephiroth regretted so, so much.

The way down to the dungeon where Nick's deathday party was being held was filled with a downright depressing pallor. The blue candlelight gave the halls a vaguely aquatic look, doing nothing for the unnatural atmosphere they cast. The light reflected off of Sephiroth's pale skin and he was reminded of Fred and George's disastrous experiment earlier that year. He had a feeling he looked more like a wraith than ever. By the time they reached the dungeon, the temperature had dropped so low that even Sephiroth was feeling slightly chilled, and Genesis was purposefully radiating heat. It took a great feat of restraint not to crowd around him to warm up.

Everything about the party was miserable. The music was screeching into Sephiroth's ears and giving him a splitting headache. Not a single ashen, translucent face in the dungeon looked happy, each swaying across a dance floor to the music (Sephiroth was reluctant to call it music when it sounded like a symphony of dying rats). There was a chandelier high above them, shining with the same ghostly bluebell light as the halls.

On top of that, there was a lingering smell of mildew and rot that made Sephiroth want to sneeze constantly. He focused on breathing though his mouth instead of his nose, because if he had to smell it for longer than necessary it was going to eradicate what little appetite he had left.

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" said Genesis irritably, pulling his Hogwarts robes tighter around himself. Sephiroth half expected him to purposefully burst into flames.

"It _is_ lacking the typical party feel," said Angeal with a grimace.

"You mean it's downright terrible," snapped Genesis.

"Quiet, they'll hear you," snapped Hermione. "This is a learning experience!"

"Yes, and I've learned my lesson: never go to a deathday party," Genesis hissed in reply.

"You haven't even—oh, no," Hermione cut herself off abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle—"

"Who is that?" asked Harry as they quickly darted for the black-draped table, which was full of a food that was edible sixty years ago.

The smell had permeated the entire dungeon, baffling Sephiroth as to its origins, and now he could see exactly what was causing it. The food was a verifiable science experiment, covered in mold and in various stages of decay. He caught sight of a dish full of maggots and had to stop looking—there was a limit to how much he could handle and he never thought _food_ would make him feel so disgusted.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," Hermione answered vaguely, distracted by the piles of rotten food. She almost looked interested in the maggots crawling out of the haggis. Sephiroth was waiting for her to pull out a notebook and start jotting things down.

"You have issues," said Ron, wrinkling his nose.

"I suspect they've let it rot to enhance the flavor," Hermione said, mindless of his comment. "I believe ghosts have some level of interaction with the physical world, it would explain Peeves, after all."

"But I thought that was because Peeves is a poltergeist," said Sephiroth.

"Yes, but—"

As if summoned by his name, the squat and entirely unwelcome form of Peeves the Poltergeist swooped up through the table. He stopped directly in front of them, bulging eyes passing from face to face, before adopting an innocent expression that fooled no one.

He was holding a platter of moldy assorted nuts that made Sephiroth's stomach do another nauseated flip.

"Nibbles?"

"No," said Angeal shortly. "Go away."

Sephiroth blinked, taken aback by Angeal's vehemence. He liked Peeves as much as any other Hogwarts student, but he wasn't usually so intolerant to Peeves's presence. The look on Angeal's face was downright irritable and it made Sephiroth curious as to what Peeves did to warrant a reaction from Angeal.

"He dumped bucket of water all over Angeal's notes for Potions," said Ron in an undertone, noticing Sephiroth's confusion. "It was the notes he took for Snape's upcoming homework assignment, so he was really angry."

That made a perfect amount of sense and Sephiroth didn't blame Angeal for being so furious at Peeves. Even with notes, Snape's assignments were difficult. That meant Angeal was going to have to convince Hermione to share her own notes with him.

"D'you think she'll lecture him on leaving his notes out where Peeves can get to them?" said Sephiroth.

Ron shook his head.

"Nah, Angeal's good with stuff like that," he said, before giving a disgruntled frown. "Now, if it happened to you or I . . ."

Sephiroth and Ron turned back into the conversation Hermione, Angeal, and Peeves. They were just in time to hear Peeves yell, "OI MYRTLE!"

The reason they were at the table full of inedible food was due to Hermione wanting to avoid Myrtle, so Sephiroth eyed the surrounding ghosts warily. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he already had the mental image of another poltergeist like Peeves. The only difference was that it would be a female version, who would start throwing the nasty food at them—Sephiroth almost gagged at the thought of the maggot-filled haggis flying at his face.

"Oh, no," said Hermione, dismayed. "Peeves, don't tell her what I said—"

" _Why_ would you tell him that?" Genesis groaned. "That's the first thing he's going to say—"

"I didn't _mean_ it," snapped Hermione in an undertone. "I don't mind—er, hello, Myrtle!"

Sephiroth's first impression was that she reflected the mood of Nick's deathday party well. She was openly frowning, her face creased with scowl lines despite only looking around fourteen or fifteen, at the most. The lenses to her glasses were so thick that her eyes were just about invisible behind them, ghostly as she was, and her hair looked to be in need of a good wash.

Her eyes instantly landed on Hermione and she adopted a childish pout.

"What?"

"How are you, Myrtle?" asked Hermione, her smile wide and plastered to her face. She sounded like she was in pain. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Genesis rolled his eyes, grumbling about abysmal actors and a distasteful performance. Hermione looked as though she wanted to throw a book at him, but was too busy trying to not insult Moaning Myrtle.

"Is it?" said Myrtle.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you," Peeves whispered, sidling up next to Myrtle. "Just saying—"

"Just saying—saying—how nice you look tonight!" said Hermione hastily, desperately grasping for nice things to say.

Sephiroth had a feeling this wasn't going to end well, and for once it wasn't because it was Halloween day. Dealing with Peeves never ended pleasantly for anyone, barring maybe the Weasley twins. They were all to adept at getting Peeves to play along with their schemes.

Unfortunately for them, Hermione wasn't nearly so talented as Fred and George were at times with manipulation.

"You're making fun of me," Myrtle accused.

Sephiroth could see where her nickname came from. She was already on the verge of tears and no one had even said anything remotely insulting.

"No—honestly," said Hermione, throwing a meaningful look at Angeal and Harry, "did I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?"

"Yes, of course," said Angeal without hesitation.

"See?" said Hermione, attempting another smile. "Sephiroth, you heard—"

Myrtle gave a surprised jolt, spinning around and finally noticing Sephiroth was standing there. He had received a lot of reactions over the years, from a mildly bemused frown to being outright called a freak, but Myrtle's overtook all of them. Her tears finally overflowed her eyes, a look of great dismay on her face, and she spun away from him. It was as though she couldn't bring herself to see him.

"You brought _him_ ," she wailed, sounding enraged. "Why him?! I don't want to see his stupid face—and now I'm crying! Just like you and everyone else always does—d'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle! Well then, it's _all your fault!_ "

"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves added lightly.

Sephiroth watched, unsure if he should feel pity after she called his face stupid, as she bolted away. Her sobs echoed down the dungeon, Peeves's high cackles following as he chased her.

"What was her deal?" said Genesis, scowling.

"She's . . . sensitive," Hermione replied delicately.

"That's not what I meant," snapped Genesis. "What's her problem with Sephiroth?"

Sephiroth wanted to know that himself, but before Hermione could answer, they were interrupted yet again by the arrival of Nearly Headless Nick. He looked a little cheerier than when Sephiroth and the others first joined the party. That was good for him, but Sephiroth felt nothing but regret.

"Enjoying yourselves?" he asked, beaming.

"Absolutely," they chorused.

"However," said Genesis with a smile that was painfully fake, "I think we should make our leave."

Angeal and Hermione glared at him with the nonverbal warning to _be nice_ , something Sephiroth wasn't entirely sure Genesis would follow.

"Already?" said Nick, surprise flashing across his face. "The party has only just begun!"

"Yes, but if we eat that food we'll get sick," said Genesis.

Sephiroth gave a start when Genesis snagged onto his arm and pulled him closer, so they were both in front of Sir Nick. Before Sephiroth could protest—vehemently, with kicks and punches, possibly a headlock—Genesis started talking again.

"See, you know how he gets really weak without food," said Genesis, sounding very aggrieved. "I'm afraid he just doesn't function without it. If he stays here, in the cold, starved for much longer . . ."

Sephiroth stomped on Genesis's foot—reached back with the full intention of flipping Genesis over his shoulder, onto the ground—

"No, that's fine," said Nick, looking worriedly at Sephiroth.

Sephiroth hesitated mid-throw, but didn't let go entirely—Genesis had already been yanking away and the sudden force from Genesis's motion sent them both tumbling backward. They would have landed in a heap, if it weren't for Angeal moving in speedily, sparing them the indignity of their predicament.

"It's nearly time for my speech," said Nick, eyeing Sephiroth as if afraid he would keel over at any moment. "Would it bother you terribly to stay a little longer?"

Genesis opened his mouth, definitely intending to weave another elaborate tale about Sephiroth's failing health, but Sephiroth ground his heel into Genesis's foot to stop him. He wanted food, but he could go without it for another couple minutes to listen to Nearly Headless Nick's speech. His actions earned him a glare from Genesis, but he couldn't bring himself to care very much.

"That's fine," said Hermione graciously. "We'd love to hear your speech."

"We would?" mumbled Ron.

"Very good," said Nick, who had thankfully not heard Ron's words. "I'll just go warn the orchestra—"

As if on queue, the orchestra stopped playing and the entire dungeon fell silent. Sephiroth glanced around, unsure of the orchestra players had very good hearing, or if something else was happening. It reminded him that it was Halloween and bad things always happened on Halloween.

"Oh, here we go."

Sephiroth looked at Sir Nick, who was absolutely infuriated.

"What is it?" he asked.

" _Them_ ," said Nick as a dozen ghostly horses burst through the wall.

The horses were a good deal taller than average horses and sitting atop them were a group of headless men. It took Sephiroth a whole thirty seconds to process this, his mind looping around to the fact their heads were missing. It looked a lot less cheerful in the spooky blue lighting of the dungeon than it had in the Great Hall, with the bright pumpkins and gleaming golden platters of food laid out. Sephiroth wished he hadn't volunteered to stay and listen to Nick's speech.

After galloping around the dungeon once, the horsemen stopped their horses in the center of the dance floor. They were led by a burly ghost, his head tucked under his arm and blowing on the horn that was held in the other. It was such a peculiar arrangement that Sephiroth had to study it for awhile, wondering why the man didn't just perch his head on his neck. That way, he'd have at least one hand free and it would look so unnerving.

The man heaved his own head up high above the crowd of ghosts—the crowd laughed and Sephiroth tried not to look at the area that was once attached to his neck—and spotted Nearly Headless Nick right away.

"Nick!" the man yelled heartily. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"

"Goddess, _why_ with the puns," Genesis groused quietly.

Angeal opened his mouth, no doubt to spout off a spectacularly awful pun.

"Don't _even_ think about it," said Genesis.

Angeal chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'll spare you this once."

Meanwhile, the ghost had strode up to them, seeming very delighted to see Nick. On the flip side, Nick looked as though he had just swallowed a lemon.

"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick woodenly.

"Live 'uns!" Sir Patrick announced when he saw Sephiroth, Harry, and the others—his head rolled off his neck from the sudden bout of enthusiasm, nearly falling to the ground. He caught it just in time with a largely exaggerated sigh of relief, before winking to the crowd in a manner that was _all too familiar_.

"He's the ghost version of Lockhart," said Sephiroth flatly.

He disliked Sir Patrick already.

"Very amusing," said Nick in response to Patrick's comedic stunt. He looked incredibly unamused.

"Don't mind Nick!" Sir Patrick loudly proclaimed to the surrounding ghosts. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say—look at the fellow—"

Nick aimed a pointed look at Harry and Sephiroth.

"What?" said Sephiroth.

"I think Nick's very—frightening and—er—"

Harry elbowed Sephiroth sharply.

" _Oh_ ," said Sephiroth, having all but forgotten they had promised to mention how scary they found Nick. "Yes, he's terrifying."

Genesis snorted.

" _Shut up_ ," mumbled Sephiroth. "As if you could do better."

And really, he should have known better than to say something like that. Genesis was nothing if not dramatic, so of course he took that as a challenge.

"If you don't mind," said Genesis, butting into Sir Patrick's one-sided conversation, "I've a few things to say. For one, there's a difference between a transparent buffoon and the thing of nightmares, something that strikes a terror so great that it even haunts the legends of Muggles. I can tell you, Nearly Headless Nick is neither merely transparent, nor is he a buffoon."

He aimed a grin at Sir Patrick that oozed every bit of annoyance he felt.

"Can you figure out the rest," he said, "or do I need to spell it out for you?"

Nearly Headless Nick looked flattered beyond words.

"Well, then," said Nick, happier than he had been thorough the entire party. "Well—if I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!"

" _That's_ how you do it," said Genesis, aiming a smirk at Sephiroth.

The impromptu speech had been impressive—not that Sephiroth was about to admit it out loud. He would rather eat his own boot.

"If you want to sound like Shakespeare," he mumbled in reply.

Genesis rolled his eyes.

"As if you know what Shakespeare sounds like," he said.

That was entirely beside the point.

Angeal's fist seemed to come out of nowhere, smacking firmly over the top of Genesis's head.

"Stop lording your words over him," said Angeal disapprovingly.

Once Nick started talking, the crowd stopped making noise altogether, focusing on him. With their attention drawn elsewhere, Sephiroth, Harry and the others decided it was time to leave. They were all hungry and even Sephiroth wasn't immune to the biting chill of the dungeons. Taking care not to pass through any of the ghosts—and ducking quickly to avoid Myrtle's line of sight—they made their way out of the dungeon and into the outside corridor.

" _Finally_ ," said Genesis, rushing up the steps two at a time. "I thought we'd never leave."

"It wasn't that boring," sniffed Hermione.

"That food smelled awful," said Sephiroth, grimacing. "I don't think I'll ever get it out of my nose."

Ron darted up the stairs so that he was even with Genesis, looking eager.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," he said.

With that in mind, Sephiroth also picked up his pace. At first he thought it was Genesis complaining about something again under his breath—or maybe Hermione mumbling about a book she read, or the termites that were in the rice at the deathday party—before he realized it wasn't coming from them at all.

" . . . _kill you . . ._ "

Sephiroth stopped—Angeal ran into his back, nearly sending them tumbling forward. It was Genesis's turn to stop an undignified pile from occurring.

"What?" said Genesis. "What is it?"

"Do you—did you hear it?" said Harry, wide-eyed with alarm.

"I think—"

" . . . _rip . . . tear . . . kill_ . . ."

Harry went pale, turning around rapidly and trying to find where the voice had come from. Sephiroth didn't see or smell anything out of the ordinary, couldn't hear anything strange other than the voice itself. There was no way of knowing where it was coming from.

He started when Harry darted away, disappearing around a corner in a direction that wasn't toward the Great Hall.

"Harry!" Sephiroth protested, running after him.

Behind them, Genesis let out a confused and annoyed question, while Ron sounded exasperated. He didn't hear Hermione or Angeal, but they were probably worried.

"Harry, why are you _following_ it?" asked Sephiroth frantically when he had caught up.

"Shush," said Harry sharply, pressing his ear to the wall in an attempt to follow the direction the voice was heading.

"But—"

"Shut up a minute," said Harry impatiently.

" . . . _soo hungry . . . for so long . . ._ "

"It wants to _eat_ someone," said Sephiroth, feeling as though Harry was ignoring a very important detail. "Let's go—"

" . . . _kill . . . time to kill . . ._ "

"What if it kills someone?" breathed Harry, wild-eyed.

"What if it kills _you_?" said Sephiroth, grabbing Harry's sleeve before he could run off again.

Harry tugged his sleeve back, deftly ignoring Sephiroth's words, and quickly followed the echoing whispers that reverberated in their heads.

"This way!"

"What on _earth_ is wrong with him?" said Hermione when the others managed to catch up. She looked almost as irritable as Genesis, who was dangerously close to spewing flames.

"It's that voice," said Sephiroth, hurrying after Harry in fear of finding him injured or worse.

Typically people ran away from things that wanted to kill them. Sephiroth really wished Harry's first instinct wasn't to run _toward_ the voice that wanted to kill and eat someone.

They had looped around the long way to the Great Hall and were now in the entrance hall. Sephiroth could hear a lively chatter from the hall, clinking utensils against plates, and he knew the feast wasn't quite over. If he could get Harry to stop chasing after the voice—and maybe convince him running toward things that wanted to kill him was a bad idea—they could still enjoy the end of the Halloween feast.

"So, I'm guessing this voice is saying nasty things," said Angeal, staring closely at Sephiroth's face, as if looking for every minute expression he could pick apart.

"It wants to kill someone and eat them."

"Perfect," said Ron. "Why are we running after it, again?"

The talking from the Great Hall faded into a dull murmur, before disappearing altogether again, as they left the entrance hall. Harry seemed to know exactly where he was going, while Sephiroth was left wishing he would listen to reason.

"Harry—remember what Cloud said about voices—"

"Yes, but that was something he said would only affect you," said Harry bluntly—Sephiroth blamed it on Harry being fixated on the situation on hand and tried not to let it bother him.

" _I smell blood . . . I SMELL BLOOD!_ "

The scent of blood was sharp and potent—Sephiroth could both smell it and remember it, on his hands and drifting around his feet. For a second, he wasn't standing in Hogwarts, but in that burning town of bodies, a river of crimson flowing through the streets—

"Sephiroth!"

Angeal was shaking his shoulders, alarm written across his face.

The others were ahead, looking at something in the darkness, while Angeal kept trying to jolt Sephiroth out of whatever daze he had fallen into. He blinked slowly, trying to will the scent of blood away, before realizing it wasn't his imagination. There really was a heavy tang of copper in the air, the smell of freshly spilled blood.

"There—" said Genesis grimly, pointing at something in the shadows.

"I'm fine," said Sephiroth.

Angeal didn't look convinced at all, but he let it slide in favor of investigating what Genesis found.

It wasn't hard to find, shimmering dark wine-red color in the darkness. Smeared roughly against the wall in blood were the words:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"Is that a cat?" said Genesis, frowning.

There was a vague silhouette of something small and deformed hanging from one of the torch brackets. It was stiff as a board and shaped like a cat.

Sephiroth's stomach did a flop, panic gripping him for a second as he searched for the lumpy form. He took three quick steps forward—and a tidal wave of relief crashed over him. It wasn't Shinra, but Mrs. Norris. He allowed himself to feel bad for the cat for about ten seconds, before he went back to being bone-crushingly relieved that it wasn't Shinra hanging there.

Except that made him worried something similar might have happened to Shinra. He had heard the voice once before—what if that was the night the voice attacked Shinra, leaving him stiff and cold like Mrs. Norris?

"We need to go," said Genesis urgently, glancing around. "People are coming and we _do not_ want to be found here."

"Y-Yeah," said Harry, nodding. He gave Mrs. Norris one last pitying look. "Couldn't we—?"

" _No_ ," said Genesis.

"Let's go, mate," said Ron.

They vacated the area just as the crowds from the Great Hall were coming through. By the time the gasps and shouts of horror started, Sephiroth, Harry and the others were long gone.

* * *

 _Omake_

Picture Pumpkin Perfect

They were even larger than Sephiroth remembered, towering over his head and almost beaming orange they were so bright. A couple of them were still free of candles, carved mouths gaping open in a way that wasn't nearly as creepy as he thought they should be.

Hagrid's pumpkins were a work of art, proudly grown and carved out by himself, and Sephiroth could the see the love he poured into them. The fact the smallest stood at around five feet tall was a testimony of that doting care.

The pumpkins were just the right size to fit full grown adult and moving around inside would be no problem for someone who was Sephiroth's size.

He took a half-step forward, desperately tempted to climb inside and try it out just once—but if Genesis caught him, there would be no end to the teasing he would endure. For a second he wavered, foot hovering in the air, before giving into the urge. He all but dove into the pumpkin, which was not nearly as damp as it should have been, so Hagrid probably performed a spell for that as well.

For a moment, Sephiroth allowed himself to feel pure satisfaction at being inside of a giant pumpkin.

Then he quickly moved to leave, because he didn't want anyone to see him—he _wasn't a kid_ , he was a mature student of Hogwarts—and stopped a moment because he noticed an uneven part of the jagged tooth.

He lifted his hand to poke at it and a flash went off.

Sephiroth's head snapped up to find Colin Creevey standing in front of the pumpkin, camera held in hand, with a giddy smile. Harry, in the show of the greatest betrayal ever, was next to him, fighting off a grin and hissing at Colin to _hurry up before he gets out!_

"Get rid of that!" Sephiroth snapped, climbing out of the pumpkin and firmly telling himself that he was _not_ blushing—it was the candlelight, not the blood rushing to his face.

"Just wait 'till I get it developed—maybe it'll even keep the blushing—"

"Colin if you give me a copy I'll sign whatever you want—"

"Harry," Sephiroth protested in dismay. "Harry, _no_."

"I bet I could sell these . . ."

" _Don't you dare!_ "

* * *

 **A/N: And another chapter that's pushing on late! I hope that omake makes up for it. Since it's kind of the reason (besides for traveling the past couple days and stuff) this took awhile. I got the picture of Sephiroth in a pumpkin and just... can't get it out of my head. It's too adorable. XD**

 **Guest:** **Don't worry, I know exactly what I'm doing with Sirius! And as for Lockhart... I'm not sure they threatened him so much as two very strong dudes with muscles and glowing eyes showed up at school one day, worried about their kids. And then maybe they glared at him, which would probably constitute as threatening. ... So yeah, they probably threatened him. (Let's not forget Aerith knows how to poison people and she will do it if someone messes with Harry and Sephiroth).**

 **Thanks for all your favorites, follows, and reviews! Till next week! :D**


	13. Chapter 13

13

The news spread like wildfire. Within twenty-four hours, the entire school down to the most oblivious first year had heard about Mrs. Norris's misfortune. Colin Creevey was seen trying to take pictures of the blood-covered wall, only for Filch to end up dragging him off by his ear, muttering furiously under his breath.

Despite Colin's irritating habit of following Harry around like a shadow, Sephiroth couldn't help but feel pity for him. He wouldn't wish Filch on anyone, even on a good day, but the recent weeks following Halloween had been anything but good. For one, Mrs. Norris had more or less been Filch's entire world, and with her Petrified now (not dead, only Petrified, and that raised some of Sephiroth's hopes for Shinra—even if the cat met the same fate, he wasn't dead), he was inconsolable.

Every time they passed by the bloody wall to and from the Great Hall, or while running between classes, Sephiroth was filled with an inexplicable type of dread. It was the kind he had felt the year before, prior to going down into the trapdoor and discovering Quirrel was the host of Voldemort, which only made him even more paranoid.

He hadn't sent a letter to Aerith about the voice this time around. Last time they came to the school, none of them had felt anything severely off, and there was no reason it would be different if they visited again. More so, he thought Professor Snape might literally blow a fuse if Aerith, Cloud, and Zack were to show up at school again without warning. He had spent the time since their visit prowling through the halls and his own classroom, waspishly informing Harry that his potion had _yet again failed_ , and that he should start over. Most importantly, Harry had seemed incredibly reluctant about telling them. He didn't want to worry them with something they couldn't do anything about, and Sephiroth could understand that.

All in all, nothing had really changed there, but Sephiroth thought he did seem a little more stressed than usual. Of course, that might have been due to the other issue Hogwarts was facing.

Since the attack on Mrs. Norris, Gilderoy Lockhart had been going around, tutting and shaking his head, claiming that if only he had been a second sooner—he could have saved Mrs. Norris from her grizzly fate. He ignored the fact Mrs. Norris was not dead, nor was she in pain, which only served to irritate even more. As if that wasn't enough, Lockhart's constant harping on the topic stirred up Filch's despair, making him loom around the castle even more.

It had been a terrible three weeks and Sephiroth couldn't wait for Christmas break. He wanted to return to Aerith, Cloud, and Zack's house and escape the dreary pall that had settled over Hogwarts.

"Don't worry—just give it a shot!"

Sephiroth looked up from his book—the charms book he was supposed to read three months ago but was only now starting to skim through—and saw Angeal and Genesis trying to urge Ginny out of her shell of quiet and isolation. She hadn't made any friends since the start of the year and Sephiroth didn't know how she could do it. He would have tried to befriend her, if she didn't blanch in horror and run away whenever she saw him. It was different than the flush on her cheeks when she saw Harry. Sephiroth was fairly certain that she was terrified of him.

"Look, you can't just hole up in here all day," said Genesis impatiently. He reached for her diary, a dark book that was somewhat unfitting of her bright hair. "Would you stop ignoring me? Don't _write_ in your diary when I'm talking to you—hey!"

Ginny had made to return to her dorm, her head still hidden in the pages of her diary.

"Ginny _get back here—_ "

"Wait, Genesis!" said Angeal in alarm.

It was too late—Genesis took a running leap at the steps to the girls' dormitory, only to be dumped back into the common room. The stairs had reverted to their slide-form, leaving a slippery and steep incline.

"She keeps ignoring me!" Genesis groused fifteen minutes later, sitting on one of the sofas by the fire and nursing his bruised ego.

"You're pestering her every other three minutes," said Hermione, sounding very unimpressed. "She's probably getting annoyed at you."

"Probably?" mumbled Ron.

"You shut it," said Genesis to Ron. He fell silent for a whole ten seconds. Sephiroth started internally counting down from five, until— "I'm her older brother! Isn't she supposed to look up to be as a role model and listen to what I say and stuff?"

"Do I?" scoffed Ron.

"You don't count," said Genesis offhandedly.

Ron looked very offended.

Sephiroth considered telling Genesis to shut up for longer than fifteen seconds, but decided against it before he could even think of what to say. All it would succeed in doing is irritating Genesis even further, with the only different being his irritation was focused on Sephiroth rather than Ginny. He focused on trying to comprehend the sentence he had read over five times instead, no closer to understanding the theory of charm work than he was twenty minutes ago.

Sometimes he wished he could be as passionate with studying as Hermione was, absorbing the words she read instantly and retaining them. Her reading habits had taken a dramatic spike since the attack and if Sephiroth didn't know better, he would assume she was living in the library. Either there was some kind of secret code linked in every single one of the books she read, or she had taken a sudden, obsessive interest in History of Magic. They hadn't seen her entire face since the day of the attack, half-obscured by a book as it always was nowadays.

Even the periods between classes weren't free from studying and Hermione made sure to drag everyone with her to the library. Sephiroth would rather be anywhere else, remembering the long hours they spent researching Nicolas Flamel the year before, and didn't like how familiar it was to watch Hermione tear through books.

"It's going to be another chaotic one, isn't it?" sighed Sephiroth out loud, to no one in particular.

"Tell me about it," replied a voice behind him.

Sephiroth nearly jumped a foot off the ground, whirling around. It was Azra Spriggan, his dark hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail and his glasses askew. He was hanging onto a pile of books that rivaled Hermione's in height. If that was the book list for the fifth years, Sephiroth wasn't going to survive. There was no way he could read through so many books at once.

"Enjoy your time while you can," said Azra, shaking his head with a laugh. "It's just getting worse and worse. I think the professors are actively trying to murder us with homework."

Coming from a Ravenclaw, that was ominous indeed.

Azra set the stack of books on a nearby table, taking a moment to lean against them and take a breath.

"I'd pitch a tent and live in here, if Madam Pince would allow it," he said. He glanced at Sephiroth, as if searching for something. "Enough about me, though—you look stressed. Something on your mind?"

"A couple things," Sephiroth admitted slowly, wracking his brain for where he had seen Azra before. "Oh! You were that person in the alcove. We were hiding from Lockhart."

Azra looked faintly amused, going off the way the corner of his mouth turned up.

"I see I've managed to stick in your mind, finally," he said. "That's fine—homework's always a hassle, no matter the year. And you don't strike me as the type to enjoy studying very much."

There was an underlying question in his tone. Sephiroth didn't blame Azra being confused, since it was known that he actively tried to avoid the library at all costs.

"My friend," said Sephiroth in explanation, nodding toward Hermione. The top of her bushy head was just visible over her book. "I was seeing if my cat hid in the library, too."

He had searched the library weeks ago—a thorough venture, no matter how much he disliked willingly going to the place—but while he was there, it didn't hurt to look again.

"Your cat's missing, yes, I remember hearing about that," said Azra. At Sephiroth's bewildered and slightly unnerved look, he quickly added, "There's a kind of rumor mill around you and your brother. Harry mostly, but you get dragged in sometimes, too."

"I do?" said Sephiroth, unsure he wanted to hear about it. He glanced around the library for Harry, hoping to find an excuse to leave.

"I'm sorry," said Azra, sounding legitimately apologetic. He was scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. "I'm really bad at communication in general and—well, talking to younger people. I mean, not that you're unintelligent or anything, but—books are my forte, not people. . . . Remember that rune project I mentioned?"

Sephiroth didn't remember it. He nodded anyway.

"Well, I finished it," said Azra. "It's a locating kind of thing. I thought—well, if you don't mind, of course—I could try using to find your cat. What was his name again? Shinra?"

Now Sephiroth was officially unnerved. He wanted to know what else the "rumor mill" know about himself and Harry. Despite the detailed information Azra seemed to know about him, a rune that could locate Shinra was very interesting. If he could find his cat after so long, it would abate the storm clouds of worry that had been brewing around him for the better part of the school year.

"How does it work?" he asked cautiously.

Azra brightened instantly.

"Oh, it's simple enough," he said. "The problem with runes is that they're very picky. It takes excellent balance between wand and user, magic and mind. Just remember—if you and your wand are closely bonded, so is your magic and mind—and the rune will closely follow. Runes are normally just a language, but the more advanced forms are literally a written variation of magic. . . . You got all that?"

 _Nope_.

"Yeah," said Sephiroth.

"I'll just show you," said Azra patiently. "You seem like a more hands-on learner anyway."

He pulled out a roll of parchment from his bag and laid it out on the table. Then he grabbed a quill and a bottle of ink.

"You can actually use your wand to make runes," said Azra as he scratched out a loopy character onto the parchment, "but that's much more advanced. . . . Here we go!"

The completed rune was no less confusing than the uncompleted version, but Sephiroth could recognize a couple symbols from when Fred and George had been experimenting with it over the summer.

"And now, all we do is—"

Azra tapped his wand against the rune and it immediately flared blue. The rune lifted off the parchment, unraveling into a long stream of azure and flowing in a circle. For what felt like forever, it stayed like that, revolving around over and over—and then it melted back into the parchment, turning back into regular, dry ink.

"What?" mumbled Azra, frowning. He held up the rune, squinting at it closely. "All the lines are right . . . I did the spacing perfectly—my best yet, I daresay . . . then why . . ."

He turned to Sephiroth sharply.

"Is your cat actually called Shinra? Or is that a nickname?"

"His name is Shinra," said Sephiroth blankly.

"Why isn't it working then?" said Azra in quiet bewilderment.

"Is it because Shinra's a cat?" asked Sephiroth, still unsure about ancient runes in general. He didn't really know anything about the subject other than what Fred and George had said. They weren't ones for teaching as much as they told him to "touch the funny lines and see what happens," which never ended well for him. He really needed to stop letting Fred and George talk him into their pranks.

"I don't think so," said Azra in reply. "It shouldn't matter—besides, I put in the feline rune anyway. It should have located him . . ."

"Well, um . . ." Sephiroth trailed off, trying to think of an excuse to leave. That was when he spotted Harry walking into the library.

He had been held back in Potions that day, but now he was finally free of whatever cruel and unusual punishment Snape had probably put him through.

"My brother's here, gotta go," said Sephiroth, already making to beat a hasty retreat.

Azra mumbled something vaguely, thoroughly absorbed in his runes, and he probably wasn't even aware when Sephiroth left.

There was a look of intense aggravation on Harry's face, openly scowling as he navigated around the other students in the library to find everyone else. When he spotted Sephiroth, the expression lessened slightly, but didn't disappear. Whatever Snape had Harry doing, it must have been truly nasty, because Sephiroth rarely saw Harry looking so annoyed.

"Justin thinks Lockhart is going to take care of the person responsible for what happened to Mrs. Norris," said Harry irritably, when he had found Hermione, Ron, Genesis, and Angeal. "And Snape had me scrubbing cauldrons again. And bottling tuberworms."

Sephiroth grimaced. Tuberworms were downright awful, small and squirmy creatures that moved way faster than their little bodies should have allowed. It took him a moment to put a face to Justin's name. He was the boy who had fan-worshiped Gilderoy Lockhart in their first class of the year, while they were dealing with the Mandrakes. From that moment, Sephiroth had been able to tell he wouldn't get along very well with Justin. Even so, he thought Justin would have figured out Lockhart wasn't the competent hero that he claimed to be by now.

"Who cares about Justin?" said Genesis, waving the concern away. "When a person falls victim during the next attack—oh, don't look at me like that, Angeal, you know it'll happen again—he'll see how much Lockhart didn't do to catch the person responsible."

"Never mind that," said Hermione waspishly. "There isn't a single copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ free right now. They've all been booked out to two-weeks, as well. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

"Even when he's not trying to be a nuisance, he's still getting in the way," said Genesis.

"Why do you want it?" asked Harry.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," Hermione replied, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"There's a legend?" said Angeal. "I didn't know that."

Neither did Sephiroth. He was glad not to be the only one in ignorance.

Ron slammed his arms on the table sharply, bursting out, "Hermione, let me read your composition!"

"No, I won't," said Hermione sharply, giving him a hawk-like glare that was reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "You've had ten days to finish it—"

"I only need another two inches—Sephiroth, how's your paper going?"

Sephiroth opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione cut him off mercilessly.

"He's not going to help you, either," said Hermione sternly. "You've got to learn to study yourself. Try taking more notes."

"I take plenty of notes—"

They left the library shortly after, receiving a glare from Madam Pince for their loudness, with Ron pleading Hermione to share her assignment with him. Once he realized Hermione wasn't going to help him, he turned to Genesis—only to be turned down as well. Sephiroth felt sorry for him, unused to the sudden onslaughts of homework as much as Ron. When Hemione and Genesis were distracted by bickering amongst themselves, he slipped Ron his notes and quickly let him look at what homework was finished.

"Thanks, mate," he whispered.

Sephiroth nodded in reply.

Their next class was History of Magic and Sephiroth suddenly regretted not bringing a pillow. It was incredibly boring and the most he could remember of the class last year was of Professor Binns' constant droning. He had somehow passed the exam for History of Magic with flying colors, which was a feat that would likely baffle Sephiroth for the rest of his life. He blamed it on Hermione's obsessive compulsive attempts to bring out the brilliance she was so sure hid inside of him.

He hadn't expected the class to be any more exciting than it was the year before and he was right for it. He dropped into a seat and immediately laid his head down on the table, fully prepared to doze through the entire class. The most he listened in for was a couple names and dates, copying them down without bothering to life his head from the desk, and then closing his eyes again.

Professor Binns' voice faded into a constant background drone, like white noise, and it only served to send Sephiroth deeper into something that wasn't quite sleep, but was close enough.

When the drone abruptly cut off, it took Sephiroth a couple moments to realize. He opened his eyes blearily, looking around the classroom, to see Hermione with her hand help straight up in the air.

This was such a surprising occurrence, Sephiroth actually bothered to lift his head off the desk. All around the class, the other students were also looking at her in bemusement. Neville's elbow had slipped and he nearly bashed his chin against the edge of his desk. Sephiroth decide to try to sit nearer to Neville from now on, because he didn't seem able to go fifteen minutes without hurting himself in one way or another.

"Miss—er—?"

It was telling of how often he interacted with his students, that he didn't even know Hermione's name. That might have been more understandable for another student, but she received the top marks last year—even in History of Magic.

"Granger, Professor," said Hermione swiftly.

Sephiroth could already tell she had everything she wanted to say lined up in her head. She also had that bright-eyed look, as though she was about to start verbally wrangling a person for information.

"I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets."

He cringed at the mention of the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't like that name, he didn't like the voice they heard, or anything about it. Somehow he just knew they were all going to get in trouble again, the same as the year before, and it made him anxious.

If anyone had still been asleep before, they weren't at the mention of the Chamber. Every student in the class looked attentive and curious for the first time ever.

"My subject is History of Magic," said Professor Binns blankly. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends."

It figured that the only part of history that even remotely interested Sephiroth would be the part Professor Binns would teach. Even then, legends and myths were only fascinating for so long, until certain people—his eyes were drawn to Genesis for a moment—decided to start talking theory about it, and it grew boring again.

With that, Professor Binns started his lecture again. Sephiroth let his head thump back down on the desk, assuming the unexpected entertainment was over, and closed his eyes. However, he was forced to open them again when Professor Binns stopped talking a second time, due to Hermione's hand returning to the air. There was determined, and then there was the look on Hermione's face. She was on a mission.

"Please, sir," she said, "don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Sephiroth's face met the desk, muffling a nearly inaudible groan. Last time Hermione showed so much interest in something, it was Nicolas Flamel. Everything was lining up to be a repeat of last year and he _did not like it_. Hermione, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and eager, as if she wanted another life-threatening adventure. Of course, it could have had something to do with the fact she wanted to hear about the Chamber of Secrets. With all the books checked out, their history teacher was their last shot at learning anything about it—within a decent period of time, at least.

"One could argue that, I suppose," Professor Binns was saying. There was heavy contemplation in his tone and Sephiroth could almost picture him stroking his long beard. "However, the legend of which you speak is a very sensational, even ludicrous tale—"

That served to pique the curiosity of the class more than ever. Sephiroth lifted his head off his forearms, since he clearly wouldn't be able to sleep this out, and he might as well learn about it now. Even if he did try to doze through the story, Hermione would tell him all about it later, probably in greater detail, and then she was lecture him for sleeping in class.

"Oh, very well," said Professor Binns, swayed by the attention of the class. "Let me see . . . the Chamber of Secrets . . ."

At first, nothing Binns said was anything more than what Sephiroth already knew from the few times he had cracked open _Hogwarts, A History_. The founders were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Back when Hogwarts was built, the Muggles had known about wizards and witches and didn't tolerate them. Sephiroth had heard of how Muggles would burn wizards and witches, believing their magic to be the work of demons.

It made him think of Cloud and Zack, who were both without magic and didn't seem to have problems with wizards and witches. Of course, they were vastly different from the average Muggles and one really couldn't compare them.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated," said Professor Binns.

Sephiroth couldn't help but try to imagine what Hogwarts was like back then—full of medieval-age children and the founders. A school only just gotten off the ground, students who were afraid of persecution and overjoyed to have a haven. And teachers who argued at every turn.

"A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

"Sir," said Genesis without bothering to raise his hand, "you said untrustworthy. Not unworthy, but un _trust_ worthy?"

Untrustworthy was a peculiar choice of words and Sephiroth wasn't surprised Genesis had picked it out from the rest. The children of proud noble families in Slytherin were quick to remind others of their pureblood lineage. Ever since that incident where they called Hermione a mudblood, Sephiroth had paid more attention to the way they reacted to her. Most of the Slytherins kept to themselves—aloof and introverted, only one or two friends they kept close to them, if that—but some of them openly expressed their dislike of Hermione.

Then again, he couldn't help but wonder if it was really them seeing her as "unworthy" of being in Hogwarts, or if they were miffed that her marks outscored them all again in class.

"That is correct," said Professor Binns. "As the times were so harsh toward wizards and witches, many found the allowance of Muggle-borns as a risk to the safety of all-magical families. Reliable historical sources tell us this much."

He paused again, glancing around the classroom as if expecting someone else to raise their hand. When they didn't, he continued.

"But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

A chamber built by the founder of the Slytherin house, unknown by the other founders. Sephiroth didn't know how they couldn't have noticed a whole new section of their school had appeared. Of course, Hogwarts was incredibly large and normally he would have assumed they really did overlook it—but they built the entire school. He honestly wouldn't be surprised to hear there was a monster in the castle, though. After Fluffy the three-headed giant dog, anything was possible.

Once History of Magic ended, they flooded out of the classroom in various states of drowsiness, Sephiroth rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Ron was happy that his dislike of Slytherins had seemingly been justified by Salazar Slytherin's distrust toward muggle-borns.

Sephiroth was distracted by the promise of dinner. Unless the voice came back and started Petrifying people right there, he wasn't going to care very much for the Heir of Slytherin, or the Chamber of Secrets. Even if he felt they should really tell Cloud, Zack, and Aerith about the little bit of information they just learned. It wasn't a lot and seemed inconsequential, but they might benefit from it.

The halls were choked with students leaving their classes and heading off before dinner, loud chattering and shouts echoing along the stone walls. The portraits were trying in vain to quiet people, and a fairy girl on a stained glass window was covering her ears to block out the noise. Sephiroth didn't like being in crowds like that, since he was head-level with most of the upper year's elbows. He nearly always was smacked in the face at least once—or someone pulled his hair—or stepped on his robes, because they were still a little too long.

"Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home," Ron was saying.

Harry expression shifted from thoughtful to uncomfortable and Sephiroth remembered the Sorting Hat had wanted to put him somewhere other than Gryffindor. He already assumed the house he was almost sorted into was Slytherin and that confirmed it.

"Hiya, Harry!"

Sephiroth began formulating reasons why they didn't have time to talk to Colin Creevey. That camera of his needed to be taken away, as it only ever seemed to be aimed at the most embarrassing moments of his, or anyone student's, life. He didn't seem to understand why it wasn't okay to take a picture of Filch's Petrified cat—while Mrs. Norris was something of a terror to students, Sephiroth was fond of cats, even if the cat in question went out of her way to get him in trouble—or that Neville didn't want his charcoal-covered face and frizzy hair immortalized on paper.

"Harry—Harry—a boy in my class has been saying you're—"

Colin was pushed back by a knot of students trying to shove through the crowded halls and Sephiroth was left feeling very frustrated. He wanted to know exactly what that student was saying about Harry, so he could make it clear that if it was bad or strange, that it wasn't true.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" said Hermione with a vague frown.

"I dunno," said Harry in confusion. "I haven't done anything. D'you suppose it's Lockhart again?"

"If it is," said Sephiroth threateningly, "I'm telling Aerith to send me those herbs."

They clambered up the next set of stairs, finally leaving the tangled assortment of shoving limbs and stomping feet.

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" said Ron, turning around mid-step so he was walking up the staircase backwards.

"I don't know," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"There's no saying whether it's a literal chamber or not," said Genesis, his fingers tapping along the spine of _Loveless_. "It could be a rumor Slytherin spread himself to instill fear in muggle-borns, or even something that started out of nowhere and it snowballed into a legend about a deadly monster that gobbles up children. It could _also_ be something more philosophical."

"Philosophical?" said Hermione, before she gave a soft exclamation of understanding. "You mean the Chamber of Secrets—or the chamber itself—being a statement of Slytherin's viewpoints on allowing outsiders in?"

Genesis opened his mouth to reply, but she plowed on.

"It would make sense and it's even fitting!" Hermione glanced to each of them, as if expecting them to have already gotten it.

"You've got to explain more," said Genesis, "they're a bit slow."

"Harry isn't slow," snapped Sephiroth. He had been listening closely to their conversation, Genesis and Hermione often being the deep-thinkers of their group, but of course Genesis just had to insult them. "And neither am I—in case you've forgotten, I've gotten good marks in all my classes—"

"Which is a fluke—"

"It's not a fluke if it happens every time!"

" _Anyway,_ " said Hermione loudly, sending them equal glares. "It coincides with Hogwarts' motto: never tickle a sleeping dragon. If, perhaps, all the founders were in on the spreading of this rumor, it would make an excellent tactic to prevent anyone from acting out in the school."

"Threatening them with death," said Angeal dryly. "Seems like rational discipline"

"It was a different era," Genesis pointed out.

They reached the top of the stairs, turned the corner and entered the corridor that the attacked happened. If it wasn't the quickest and only corridor that wasn't overflowing with people, Sephiroth would rather have taken another passage. The message was still written on the wall in gleaming crimson, as if the blood was freshly spilled even after a couple weeks.

"Can't hurt to have a look around," Harry muttered, glancing around the deserted corridor. That said, he dropped his bags and began crawling around on all fours, squinting at the ground.

"What are you doing, trying to sniff out clues?" said Genesis in bemusement.

"There's scorch marks!" said Harry eagerly. "Here—and here—"

"Are they footprints?" asked Angeal. "Genesis lit his feet on fire on accident last year—"

"You _promised_ you wouldn't tell anyone about that!" snarled Genesis, flushing.

"I didn't promise anything," said Angeal.

"They're not footprints—" Harry cut himself off as something else caught his attention. "Come and look at this!"

Hermione, who was nearest, also looked surprised.

"This is funny," she murmured in confusion.

Sephiroth took one look and quickly prodded Ron away.

"Ron, don't look," he said.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to get around Sephiroth with no success.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" Hermione wondered aloud.

The chance in Ron's behavior was immediate. He stopped trying to push Sephiroth out of the way and scurried back several steps.

"Spiders?" he whimpered

Hermione threw him a bewildered look, before understanding dawned on her face.

"Oh, that's right!" she said, her mouth twitching. "You're afraid of spiders."

"You should be, too!" said Ron, his voice pitched higher than usual. He was throwing looks at the end of the corridor, as if contemplating whether or not he should make a break for it.

Sephiroth noticed Genesis grab a tangled bit of string from his pocket—it was probably from his frayed, second-hand clothing—and bunch it up. He approached Ron's shoulder, the string held up—and Angeal snatched the string away, stuffing it in his pocket and throwing a glare at Genesis.

Ron continued to eye the long, silvery string of fleeing spiders warily, unaware of the scare Angeal had averted for him.

"Remember all that water on the floor?" said Harry, stuck in detective mode. "Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"The bathroom," said Genesis, looking at the door a few paces away from him with distaste. "Myrtle's bathroom."

Sephiroth remembered Myrtle taking one look and him and wailing, leaving as fast as should could from Nearly Headless Nick's party. Something about his face seemed to upset her greatly. He had considered asking Aerith about it, curious if the ghosts (who were all the closest to experts on death as anyone could be) could sense something was off about him. He had been reborn, while they were stuck halfway between life and death, in limbo. Perhaps Myrtle was less forgiving over that than the other ghosts.

"So wait," said Ron as Harry neared the bathroom, fully intending to go inside. He was looking at the door as though it was a deadly trap. "Doesn't that mean it's the _girls'_ bathroom?"

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione in exasperation. "No one wants to deal with Myrtle. It wouldn't hurt to look around in there, come on."

Not wasting a second, she breezed by Genesis and entered the girls' bathroom.

"I don't want to go in there," said Ron and Sephiroth at once.

Ron gave Sephiroth a look of pure relief.

"Someone else gets it," he said with a joyful smile. "We're boys, we can't go into—"

"Actually," said Sephiroth, hating to burst Ron's bubble of happiness, "I just don't want anyone to see me going in there. They might think it's proof I'm secretly a girl."

"I—" Ron's voice faltered and he frowned. "You might be right."

"Get in here!" snapped Hermione, peering around the doorjamb. "No one comes in here, I already said that! Now hurry up!"

"Let's make this quick," said Sephiroth.

Ron nodded, visibly gathering his courage.

"Get it over with and all that," he said.

They stepped into the bathroom together. Considering it was Moaning Myrtle's abode, it came as no surprise that the bathroom was one of the filthiest and dreary ones Sephiroth had seen in his entire life. It looked as though it could have done with a good wash years ago, dust collected on the stalls and cracked sinks. The mirrors were covered in grime and Sephiroth could hardly see the blurry colors of his own reflection through it. A door to one of the stalls was hanging precariously off its hinges.

"What scratched it?" whispered Ron, eyeing the deep gouges in the stall doors, deeply unnerved.

"Do we really want to know?" said Sephiroth.

"Good point," Ron replied with a grimace.

" _Shhh_ ," said Hermione, holding a finger to her lips. She neared the last stall and paused. "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

When the others followed her, Sephiroth opted to stay behind. Bathrooms tended to echo loudly and he didn't want Myrtle shrieking on sight of him again, so he turned to inspect the sinks instead. The knobs were topped with tiny snakes, fangs bared and beady eyes glaring up at him. Something uncomfortable stirred in Sephiroth's stomach and he glanced away from them quickly, focusing on the mirrors.

He rubbed at the grime, a little circle cleared away to reveal a single piercing green eye. Green eyes and silver hair, and Sephiroth found it ironic that he had the colors of a Slytherin while being in Gryffindor house. As if everything about him, even his body, was a contradiction.

It wasn't much a surprise that, hardly a minute later after they found Myrtle, she was crying.

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one! My life was nothing but misery and disappointment at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," Hermione was trying to ask before Myrtle flew into a fit of despair and left. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" came Harry's voice.

Sephiroth turned away from the mirrors to see Harry looking somewhat frustrated.

"A cat?" said Myrtle, sniffling. "I wasn't paying attention. Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm—that I'm—"

"Already dead?" Ron suggested.

That was all it took. Myrtle broke out into a long wail and there was a splashing sound, followed by the gurgle of a flushing toilet. Sephiroth grimaced, assuming she just dove into the toilet and tried not to think about all the water that landed on his brother.

Hermione didn't look surprised, while Harry and Ron stared into the stall, gobsmacked.

"Perfect," said Genesis sarcastically, inspecting the front of his robes. "These are going to have to be sterilized."

"Can we leave now?" asked Ron helplessly.

"Yeah," said Hermione with a sigh. "But honestly, that was almost cheerful for her . . ."

Sephiroth made a beeline for the door, wanting out as soon as possible. He would have left earlier, were it not for how odd it would look if he was standing outside the girls' bathroom alone. Myrtle's sobs reverberated through the bathroom and Sephiroth was glad to be away from the sound.

"What . . .?"

Sephiroth jumped, his eyes widened when he noticed Percy standing at the end of the corridor, looking at him in equal astonishment.

"That's—that's a _girls'_ bathroom," said Percy in a strangled croak.

Ron bumped into Sephiroth's back while he was trying to leave the bathroom.

"Ow—Sephiroth, what are you standing around for—oh. Hi, Percy."

Percy went from shocked and awkward to disapproving and outraged in less time than it took for Sephiroth to feel horrified over the fact he was caught in a girls bathroom.

"What were you—? Never mind," said Percy quickly, stomping toward them quickly. "Get—away—from—there! Don't you care what this looks like—"

"I swear I'm not a girl," said Sephiroth hastily, and _oh Merlin,_ even if Percy believed him, the rest of the student body wouldn't. "We were just looking for clues—"

"You're—you're just stirring up more excitement doing that," said Percy fiercely, turning red. "Ginny was in tears, she's afraid something like this might happen again. All the first years are in a mess over this business as well—"

"Stop pretending to care about Ginny," said Genesis furiously, shoving by Sephiroth and Ron. "You've ignored her all year while she's been struggling to make friends and _now_ you decide to realize you've got a sister—"

"You were in there, too—and Angeal?" Percy spluttered. "And I'll have you know it's the Prefects' job to make sure bullies and troublemakers are punished—I've been watching Ginny's back—"

Harry left the bathroom last, seeming very reluctant to with the loud racket between Genesis and Percy.

" _And_ Harry Potter?" said Percy, as if Harry hadn't been over at his house for the summer. "Five points from Gryffindor! I hope this teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or I'll write to Mum!"

Ron's ears were red with anger, but he didn't yell back at Percy as he strode away.

"I'm a bit more afraid Mum will actually show up at school," he muttered as they also left the corridor. "With your guardians visiting . . ."

That night, they worked on their homework as far from Percy as possible. Ron and Genesis were no less irate than they were right after their run-in with Percy, the latter acting as though it was a personal affront to his pride. Genesis had almost set his parchment on fire three different times. When Ron, his wand broken as ever, really did set his homework on fire, he visibly resisted the urge to throw the Charms book across the common room.

Hermione closed her book roughly thirty minutes earlier than normal and Sephiroth, who had finally managed to finish most of his homework for the week, gave her a questioning look.

"Who is it, though?" she said, her voice low so no one else in the common room could overhear them.

Sephiroth could tell she hadn't been concentrating on her homework at all. An irrational part of him was tempted to tell her to _focus on the homework, there's only a couple days left until it's due_ , like she always did to them—but he also knew that would irritate her greatly. That and he hardly had the right to tell her off.

"Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Squibs?" said Harry and Sephiroth.

"You don't know? Squibs are people born from magic families, only they haven't got magic," said Hermione quickly. "I'm certain Filch is a Squib, actually. But anyway—who can it be? Even if we've determined it was probably a fear tactic to prevent misbehavior back then, someone _now_ it taking it more literally."

"There's plenty of people in Hogwarts who hate Muggle-borns," said Ron shortly. He was still annoyed over his misbehaving wand and homework. "All of Slytherin house, for one. Now, who in there do we know hates Muggle-borns?"

Sephiroth remembered yellowish teeth and a brutish face.

"Flint?" he wondered out loud.

"There's Parkinson, too," said Genesis grouchily. "She hates Sephiroth openly."

"Are you sure she doesn't just hate everything?" said Angeal doubtfully.

"Well, it's not one of the professors," said Hermione. "We've gone down that road before."

"Imagine Lockhart as the heir of Slytherin," snickered Genesis.

"Let's not," said Sephiroth.

"You're all forgetting Malfoy," said Ron. "His entire family hates Muggle-borns. His rotten father is actively prejudiced against them, Dad says so."

"Draco's not the heir of Slytherin," Sephiroth protested sharply.

Harry closed his books as well, shoving them into his bag.

"Think about it, though," he said. "Malfoy's whole family's been in Slytherin for generations."

"So has Parkinson and Flint," said Genesis dismissively. "Besides, Malfoy was all worried about Sephiroth not going out after dark and whatever, and I think most of Slytherin thinks you're half-human or something, Sephiroth."

"Oh," Sephiroth replied.

"But how would Malfoy know to warn Sephiroth about something dangerous happening, if he didn't already know it was going to happen?" said Ron, adamant over incriminating Malfoy.

Sometimes Sephiroth really had to wonder what Draco did to make Ron dislike him so much. He knew Draco said a couple unsavory things on the Hogwarts Express during their first ride to the castle, but he didn't think that would be enough to turn into full-on suspicion.

"I think we should watch all the Slytherins before naming anyone specifically," said Angeal. "At the very least we can narrow it down by them being Slytherin's heir. I doubt any proud heir of Slytherin would be anywhere besides his ancestor's house."

"That's a sound plan," said Hermione approvingly. "Now, we just need a way to watch them covertly . . ."

Sephiroth wondered if they would take "Let the professors deal with it for once" into consideration.

He doubted it.

* * *

 **A/N: Another late chapter, sorry about that! I live in the States, so I did a crapton of traveling to see the total solar eclipse and it's eaten a lot out of my week XD Next chapter should be on time, though!**

 **Oh and I can't unsee Sephiroth as a Lilikin now. It's just too freaking adorable!**

 **Thanks for all your favorites, follows, and reviews! You guys are the reason I worked on posting this instead of sleeping XD**

 **Until next week!**


	14. Chapter 14

14

"I have an idea."

Those were the first words out of Hermione's mouth the next morning when Sephiroth, Harry, Genesis, and Angeal descended the steps of their dormitory. She had clearly been up for a while, her bag full and ready for the day, rearing to go.

Sephiroth dreaded to hear her plan.

"You do?" said Genesis doubtfully. "If it came to you in a dream, absolutely not."

"I haven't thought it through all the way," said Hermione, ignoring Genesis. "Of course, if we _did_ do this, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect—"

It took a significant feat to break fifty school rules at once, so Sephiroth wanted to know exactly what she had planned. He didn't think they had even broken fifty school rules the previous year, and they had deliberately gone against Professor McGonagall's orders.

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining," said Ron, bleary-eyed from being woken by Genesis and an irritable kind of hungry, "you will let us know, won't you?"

"All right," said Hermione, sounding very miffed. "It's not as if I stayed up all night thinking about this, after all. What we'd need to do is get inside the Slytherin common room and ask a few questions without anyone realizing it's us. I'm sure if we just ask randomly, someone will know something."

"That's impossible," said Harry, and Sephiroth entirely agreed with his words.

The only thing Sephiroth could think of was using Harry's cloak and following a Slytherin to their common room, slipping inside while they were entering. Whoever used the cloak would have to stand around for a while and hope someone started talking about how they were the proud heir of Salazar Slytherin. While the only Slytherin he ever really talked to was Draco, he knew that Draco's unwillingness to share information in a straightforward fashion was shared by them all.

He suspected the Slytherins just sat around their common room and did their homework in relative silence, just like the Gryffindors did—and just how he imagined the other houses did, as well. Sometimes he wondered what Harry and the others thought the other houses were up to. It wasn't as if Slytherins actively planned to take over the world, or Ravenclaws were covering their walls in complex Arithmancy equations.

That made him wonder what the other houses thought the Gryffindors did. Did they suppose Gryffindors had shouting contests?

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago—"

Sephiroth jolted back into the conversation. At first he thought they had somehow rabbit-trailed from planning how to break into the Slytherin common, to Potions homework. He was wrong—they were still talking about the heir of Slytherin.

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us."

Hermione was bright-eyed and eager. Something about this plan had piqued her curiosity, which meant arguing was definitely a lost cause.

"And if Malfoy knows anything, he'll probably tell us all about it. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, whether it's about himself or someone else—if only we could hear him."

"Wait, transform us into anyone?" said Sephiroth, bewildered.

"Where have you been?" asked Genesis, raising an eyebrow. "We're talking about Polyjuice potion. Stop blanking out, will you?"

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?"

"Aside from the looking like the Slytherins forever part," said Angeal, "I agree with Ron. This potion sounds very risky . . . are there any side-affects?"

"It wears off after a while, so no permanent forms," said Hermione, looking as though she'd really rather they just trusted her. "Apart from the taste and smell, there's no side-affects, either. The hard part is getting the recipe. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."

Sephiroth definitely didn't like where this was going.

"Can't we just ask Draco?" he said hesitantly, already knowing they were going to shoot the idea down, but he had to try. If Draco knew anything, he would drop a hint at the very least. And he wasn't the heir of Slytherin—Sephiroth knew that for sure.

Someone who spent hours during his weekend helping Sephiroth search for his missing cat would never turn around and Petrify another cat for no reason.

"Oh, that sounds like a good idea," said Ron very sarcastically. "'Oi, Draco? You haven't been leaving threatening messages in blood to scare the life out of Muggle-borns, have you? Just wondering, mate.' . . . That'd go over _well_."

Sephiroth scowled.

"None of you have even _talked_ to him," he said insistently. "If we just asked, he'd tell us! There's no need to break into the Restricted Section _again—_ "

"Who said anything about breaking into the Restricted Section?" said Hermione with a sly smile. "If we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance of getting a pass into the Restricted Section."

Sephiroth threw her a disbelieving look.

"No teacher's going to fall for that," he said.

He could imagine Professor McGonagall looking at them over her glasses for a whole fifteen seconds, processing the fact they seriously just said that, before sending them off with a sharp reminder that they were still on thin ice over the stolen Ford Angela.

"Oh, you are _not_ thinking of using him," said Genesis, suddenly understanding whatever brilliant plan Hermione had thought up. He didn't look pleased with it. "That's not—even _he's_ not that—it's just . . ."

Genesis rubbed his gloved hands over his face, muffling a groan.

"He's _that_ stupid, isn't he?"

Hermione was throwing him an annoyed, defensive glare she only wore when the conversation was about one person.

It was Sephiroth's turn to groan.

"Hermione, even Lockhart isn't that stupid," he said. "And I think I've really annoyed him over the past few weeks—I mean, I hate him, so no big loss there—"

"Then you'll just have to stop being such a stick in the mud in his classes," said Hermione stiffly.

" _Stick in the mud_?" Sephiroth repeated incredulously. "It's called protecting myself from his overly-personal attempts at befriending me—he's only trying to get to Harry, the arse, and if he thinks he can use _me_ to do it—"

"The point is," said Angeal in dry amusement, "Sephiroth won't be cooperating."

"I just don't want to dress up as a damsel in distress!"

"You _have_ to cooperate!" said Hermione, unmoving. "Just do as he says for the next couple days, and we'll have our note for the Restricted Section."

She made it sound as though it would be easy to just go along with Lockhart's classes. She seemed to be ignoring the most problematic part of that, being the things Lockhart wanted Sephiroth to do. Dress up as a damsel, or the female vampire who was bewitching a town of hapless Muggles, or—as of the present class—wearing the rags of the hag Lockhart supposedly bested in battle.

"You want me to what?" said Sephiroth flatly.

"Just put them on," hissed Hermione into his ear. She had sat next to him purely for the intent of needling him into doing what Lockhart said to get in his good graces.

"Just nip behind that divider to get changed," said Lockhart, beaming when Sephiroth dragged his feet to the front of the class.

"Get changed?" said Sephiroth, sounding as dead as he felt inside.

"It's for maximum realism," said Lockhart. "I'm sure you understand, adds to the experience for those watching."

"Isn't this supposed to be a defense class?" he asked numbly as he took the costume and trudged toward the divider. "This feels like drama to me."

He changed into the hag's costume, feeling more and more uncomfortable with every passing second. By the time he finished, his face was flaming red and he didn't very much feel like leaving the safety of the divider. The costume kept slipping off one shoulder, there were rips and tears to make it look as ragged as it was in the books, and it felt all too much like wearing a dress.

He thanked any and all of the deities who apparently loved him that Colin Creevey wasn't in his year. He wouldn't have survived the horror of having multiple pictures of his current state distributed.

The last piece was a sash that Sephiroth briefly considered wrapping around his face to hide his embarrassment. He tied it around his waist—he was going to ask Aerith for those herbs, as soon as he got his hands on parchment and ink—and stepped out.

Miserable didn't even begin to describe the class from there on out. It wasn't even because of the dress, either—if he was entirely honest, he didn't particularly care about it, although it would have been nice if the thing would stop slipping off his shoulders for longer than thirty seconds. What made the class miserable was Lockhart correcting the way he tied the sash ("Wrong knot—not to worry! It happens to everyone at least once!"), and then scolding him on the lack of inflection in his tone.

"You do seem to have trouble with that even outside of class," said Lockhart thoughtfully. "You're very monotone, my boy! Try speaking as though you're enjoying life!"

The other students were too embarrassed for him to laugh, although Lavender Brown and Parvati Patel seemed to be giggling over something. They were looking at him, so it probably had something to do with the outfit—Sephiroth really didn't want to know.

"Now the hag screeched here—go on—no, that's a drone, my boy. . . . Ah, we can work on it later."

If Lockhart really thought Sephiroth was going to practice the art of convincing acting later, then he must have been even more foolish than any of them had previously assumed. Sephiroth was absolutely certain that nothing in his expression screamed that he was enjoying the DADA drama class.

"A little higher pitched—she toppled over backwards—as you know, the hag was just a helpless woman possessed by a cursed object—now I noticed this and leaped—"

It took every ounce of Sephiroth's self control not to lash out and kick Lockhart squarely in the stomach. He had never wanted Lockhart kneeling over him while he lay on the floor. Lockhart had a hand on Sephiroth's neck, the other holding onto his wand, which was pointed at the "cursed" medallion on Sephiroth's chest.

There was a scuffle from where the students sat and Sephiroth heard a hissed, " _Harry, no!_ " and assumed Harry was just as objectionable to Lockhart's close proximity as Sephiroth did. Unfortunately, the others succeeded in keeping Harry from charging in to the rescue and Sephiroth was fairly sure it was the only time he'd be disappointed Harry didn't try to save him.

"Now it was a struggle to get the medallion off," said Lockhart. "She was still holding onto her greed and wouldn't allow herself to move on—she wanted to be as good as someone else, see, and was tempted by the power of the medallion—so she hit and scratched quite a bit while I was getting it— _ow_ , very good for enthusiasm, but, ah, not so hard—"

"I cannot believe you made me do that," said Sephiroth after the bell rang and Lockhart ended the demonstration. He felt traumatized. "I'm writing Aerith as soon as I can."

"I will, too," said Harry viciously. "I'll do the poisoning, too, if you don't mind. I might even kick his face while he's unconscious—"

" _Harry_ ," said Hermione, aghast.

"I'll write Cloud, too," said Harry as an afterthought. "I'm curious to see what he'll do. . . . Think he'll kill Lockhart?"

"He wouldn't!" Hermione protested, before faltering a moment. "Would he?"

"Exaggeration can go a long way," said Genesis thoughtfully. "Sephiroth, would you say you felt threatened by his advances?"

"It was annoying?" said Sephiroth.

"Yes, but did you feel harassed—"

"Does he even know what that is?" said Angeal.

"It doesn't matter if Sephiroth knows or not," said Genesis, waving the issue away. "What matters is how Harry words the letter. I'd say it looked close to violation, if you—"

Hermione opened a book and practically buried her face in it.

"I'm not listening to this," she said firmly. "I'm not listening."

"Couldn't that get him in big trouble?" asked Ron gleefully.

"Yes," said Genesis with a relishing grin. "Now we hurry up and get our pass—and then we put Lockhart in prison."

Hermione slammed her book down.

"You are _not—_ "

"I thought you weren't listening," said Genesis snidely.

Sephiroth had no idea what they were talking about, or trying to imply. He turned to Harry, the question already formed, but Harry's stormy expression cut him off.

"Don't worry abut it," said Harry darkly. "We'll get him back."

Angeal eyed Harry worriedly.

"You do know we're just blowing it out of proportion?" he said cautiously. "Exaggeration, like Genesis said. Sephiroth is fine."

It seemed they were back to talking about him while he was right in front of them. At least it wasn't Genesis and Hermione arguing about how much food he ingested each morning.

When the last student finally left, Hermione went up to Professor Lockhart, Genesis and Angeal following her. Harry had stayed behind because no one trusted him not to attempt to strangle Lockhart as soon as he started talking. Ron didn't want to interact with Lockhart if he didn't have to.

"We can probably leave," said Ron, grabbing his bags. "They'll get the note."

"We're just leaving?" said Sephiroth, bewildered. "Shouldn't we wait?"

"Unless you _want_ to stay in Lockhart's class longer than necessary . . .?"

"Let's go," Sephiroth readily agreed.

Ron waved at Genesis and Angeal, who nodded back in understanding, before they left the classroom. They planned on waiting in the library for Hermione, Genesis, and Angeal, but they hardly took two steps out of the classroom before running into a familiar face.

The good news was that it wasn't Colin Creevey. The bad news was that they ran into anyone at all, but mostly that it was Draco Malfoy.

And that Sephiroth forgot to change out of the hag costume.

He had been so embarrassed by Lockhart's performance, distracted by Hermione trying to get the note of approval, and trying to decode the conversation Genesis and the others had about writing Cloud and imprisoning Lockhart, that he more or less forgot about the clothing. Once he figured out how to solve the wide shoulders, it wasn't too uncomfortable.

"Hullo, Draco," said Sephiroth.

Draco turned three different shades of red.

"Is that a _dress_?"

"It's a costume," said Sephiroth, flushing as well. It was still embarrassing that he forgot to change.

"Beat it, Malfoy," said Ron waspishly. Then he turned a critical look on Sephiroth. "Were you going to just wear that the rest of the day?"

"I didn't hear _you_ pointing it out!" snapped Sephiroth.

"Would you just get your clothing?!" said Draco, his voice a couple octaves shriller than normal. "Why are you dressed like a girl anyway? That's not—you just don't— _why_?"

"Lockhart made me do it," mumbled Sephiroth, wondering why Draco was angry at _him_ and not Lockhart. "Don't blame me."

" _Lockhart_?" said Draco, scowling. "I always knew there was something wrong with him. My father will hear about this—he's secretly a molester or something, I always knew it—"

"So you think Lockhart's scum as well?" said Harry, looking as though he was reappraising Draco completely.

" _Crescent_ , would you just—"

" _Ugh_ ," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "Go get changed before his delicate noble family senses are disturbed."

Draco snarled visibly and Sephiroth quickly ducked back into the classroom before things could get ugly. When he returned a couple minutes later, dressed back in his Hogwarts uniform and glad of it, he expected to see Ron and Draco either in a fight, or at each others' necks (about to get into a fight), or Harry and Ron standing over Draco's body.

Instead he found Harry and Ron standing alone in the corridor, Draco nowhere in sight. For a second Sephiroth wondered if he had imagined the entire thing, but Ron looked far too pleased with himself to have been just standing there the whole time. Sephiroth thought his worry for Draco's state of health was warranted.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing much," said Ron, smiling like a cat that caught a canary. "We just scared off a snake."

Usually Sephiroth wouldn't want to know, but that time he actually did. Of course, it happened to be the time Ron and Harry didn't feel like explaining. Sephiroth spent a couple minutes trying to weasel the information out of them, but they were both tight-lipped.

"I thought you three were going on ahead," said Hermione in confusion when she stepped out of the Defense Against the Dart Arts classroom, flanked by Angeal and Genesis.

"We ran into Draco," said Sephiroth, trying not to feel too miffed at being left out of whatever Harry and Ron did. "They got him to leave somehow—they won't tell me."

Hermione looked at them—Ron and Harry crumbled.

"We just picked on Malfoy's father buying his way into the team and all that," said Ron with a weak smile.

"Oh," said Hermione in distaste. "That would do it."

Sephiroth highly doubted it. Going off the deadpan stare Genesis was aiming at Ron and Harry, he didn't believe them as well.

"Did you get the signature?" asked Harry, swiftly changing the topic.

Hermione's face lit up and she pulled out a note from her pocket.

"Right here!" she said eagerly.

"He didn't even look at the book we wanted," said Genesis with a snort. "Brainless idiot."

Hermione opened her mouth as if she wanted to argue, but stopped midway with a sigh. She suggested they head for the library and they agreed at once. It was enough that she stopped trying to defend Lockhart at every turn.

"Oh, so you've finally come around?" said Genesis waspishly.

At least, it was enough for Sephiroth that she no longer stood up for Lockhart.

"I haven't a _clue—_ "

"Give it a rest, you two," sighed Angeal.

"Hopefully they don't do this for the rest of our lives," said Harry in an undertone.

They half-ran, half-walked the rest of the way to the library in relative silence, Genesis and Hermione very deliberately ignoring each other. Sephiroth hoped they didn't continue their habit of bickering at every turn as well. He could only listen to them basically have the same argument multiple times before it got old.

"Think she'll take it?" asked Harry as they crept toward Madam Pince, who either hadn't noticed them or was pretending to be ignorant. "I mean . . . it's _Lockhart's_ signature. Does anyone actually take his signature as acceptable?"

"That is true," said Genesis with a sneer. "He's left his signature laying around enough for anyone with half a brain to forge."

" _Wait_ ," said Sephiroth, stopping dead in the center of the library, prompting the others to look at him questioningly. "Are you saying you could have just _forged his signature?_ As in, I didn't have to go along with that _ridiculous play_?"

Genesis opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again.

"Look on the bright side . . .?" he said vaguely, sounding unsure himself. "At least now you get to poison him?"

"I had to _dress up as a girl_ ," said Sephiroth, resisting the urge to shake Genesis back and forth. "Draco _saw me_ in a dress!"

"That was your own fault," said Genesis swiftly. "Why'd you leave the classroom in the costume anyway?"

" _If you just forged his signature in the first place—_ "

There was the dry sound of someone clearing their throat, and they looked up to see Madam Pince standing next to them. Her face was stuck in a permanent frown, squinted eyes darting to each of them in turn. Whenever Sephiroth saw her, he was convinced she was thinking up reasons to throw them out of the library. He didn't know why—it wasn't as though they were nuisances. Sure, he had dropped a couple books in the past and wrinkled the pages, and a heavy tome dropping out of nowhere in the total silence was something of a shock, but it wasn't that disruptive.

Alright, so maybe the sudden noise had caused a student's wand to go off and set one of the books on fire, but that wasn't his intention.

" _Most Potente Potions_?"

Madam Pince stared closely at the note Hermione handed her, glancing at them in cool wariness. After a couple seconds of close scrutiny of the note, she decided it wasn't faked and disappeared into the tall shelves of the restricted part of the library.

"So distrustful," Angeal commented.

"It's not like you ever set a book on fire," said Ron, aborting his sarcasm halfway through. "Actually, you've never done that."

"Setting any book on fire is a _crime_ ," said Genesis heatedly. "I can't imagine what was lost in the burning of the library of Alexandria—"

"Now _that_ is a low point in human history," Hermione agreed readily.

Sephiroth had read about the library of Alexandria outside of Hogwarts in the muggle schools that he and Harry had attended in the past, but he hadn't thought magical people would know about it. It was Genesis, so he really shouldn't have expected anything less. More alarming was the eagerness that flashed across both Hermione and Genesis's faces at the mention of the ancient library, almost certainly preceding a long and desperately boring history lecture.

The lecture was thankfully interrupted by Madam Pince emerging from the restricted section, a large and drab old book tucked under one of her spindly arms. It was covered in spots of fuzzy mold, triggering a memory of the moldy food from Halloween night. Going off the pristine conditions of all the books in the regular section of the library, Sephiroth was unsure why Madam Pince let _Most Potent Potions_ get so filthy.

Hermione tucked the book into her bag, looking as casual as possible, while Genesis checked out five other books and attempted small talk with Madam Pince for all of five minutes, before giving up.

 _Most Potent Potions_ might as well have been a time bomb. Sephiroth didn't like the idea of taking on another person's identity, of lying to Draco (who was still a sort-of friend—Sephiroth wasn't entirely sure and Draco wasn't clear, either) and getting information in such an underhanded way. He was still convinced that if they just asked Draco for anything he knew, he would simply tell them.

Or he would insult them, and then he would tell them. Either way, they would gain from it, as opposed to the risks from their plan. It would almost definitely lead to them being expelled if they were caught.

Tricking a friend, taking on the form of another, lying and stealing—Sephiroth drew the line at the girls' bathroom.

"Oh, get over it," said Genesis irritably, pushing the door to the bathroom open. "No one will think to look for anything in here."

Moaning Myrtle broke out into long wails as she heard the door open, making Sephiroth wince. He didn't know why the volume of her crying had to be so loud, other than to annoy people. That seemed very unhelpful to her cause, since most of the time she was crying she claimed it was because of the people who were cruel to her.

Hermione pulled out _Most Potente Potions_ and started flipping through it quickly. Sephiroth caught a glimpse of a witch who appeared to have spider legs sprouting from her head, to a man whose entire lower half had turned into octopus tentacles.

"Are you sure this potion is safe?" said Angeal, grimacing when he saw the detailed illustration of a snake-human hybrid. "The rest of these potions look somewhat . . . deadly."

"I think we should be asking why these potions were even created," said Genesis, eyeing the book with nothing short of amusement. "Look here, a potion that turns the drinker's arms into tree branches. What, did someone forget a Christmas tree one year and decide, 'Hey, let's make that guy our tree!' or something?"

Ron, who was far more disturbed than any of them due to seeing the spider-headed witch, couldn't help but snort.

"Did they hang garland around him?"

"Here it is!" Hermione burst out before Sephiroth could get too unnerved by their fantasies of a human Christmas tree.

The mental image they had created for him was even more disturbing than it sounded in his mind.

"They look like they're in pain," said Angeal.

"It's probably just imagined," Hermione replied.

"Probably?" said Sephiroth, unsatisfied with her tone of voice.

"It seems long," said Harry, looking at the list of ingredients. "Where would we even get these things?"

Sephiroth leaned around Harry's shoulder to get a better look at the book. There was indeed a very long list of ingredients for the potion, which gave him more hope than was appropriate. If the potion was too difficult, or they couldn't get one of the ingredients, they wouldn't be able to brew the potion.

"Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," Hermione read out loud, dragging a finger along the ingredient names. She paused on one, tapping her finger and raising her eyebrows. "Powdered horn of a bicorn—don't know where we're going to get that—shredded boomslang—that'll be tricky, too. . . . And we need a bit of the person we want to change into."

Sephiroth all but tripped over himself jumping to the wrong conclusions.

"Cannibalism?!" he exclaimed, feeling sick to his stomach.

" _No_ ," said Hermione insistently, making a face. "Merlin, _no_. We just need a hair or something."

"I'm drinking nothing with anyone's toenail's in it," said Ron firmly.

"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last," said Hermione, sighing at their reactions. "Honestly, it's not as though you're _eating_ someone."

"Hermione, you're taking a bit of someone, adding it to a potion, and then drinking that potion," said Angeal flatly. "That is the definition of eating someone."

"Someone's _hair_ ," she corrected.

"Can't we just interrogate people?" suggested Ron. "Gen, you could tie them down and scare the living daylights out of them."

"And that's better than plucking a hair off someone's head and adding it to a potion?!" snapped Hermione.

"Ignoring the hair part," said Ron, sounding as though he'd very much rather not ignore that part, "you _do_ realize how much we're going to have to steal, don't you? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores?"

Hermione straightened and Sephiroth's heart sank. She looked excited, eyes trained on the book in her hands and glinting with the type of anticipation she only got when they learned a particularly tricky spell in class.

"Well, if you all want to chicken out, that's fine. I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion." She finally dragged her eyes away from the book, staring up at them firmly. "But if you don't want to find out who the heir of Slytherin is, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in."

"Are you actually trying to convince us to break the rules?" said Genesis, divided between incredulity and amusement.

Ron shook his head.

"I never thought I'd see the day."

"We've broken her," Angeal chuckled.

"It's a _fascinating_ potion," said Hermione waspishly. "Who wouldn't want to try it out?"

"Anyone who is sane," said Sephiroth without hesitation. "So no one thinks we're about to make a terrible mistake?"

He looked at Harry in hope of receiving support, but Harry looked just as determined as Hermione.

"How long will it take to make?" he asked.

Hermione opened the book again, immediately falling to the Polyjuice Potion page. Either she had remembered the page number, or that was extraordinarily good luck. Sephiroth was more inclined to believe it was her memory.

"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have to to be stewed for twenty-one days . . . I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."

"A month?" exclaimed both Ron and Sephiroth, for very different reasons.

"But Christmas break—"

"Half the Muggle-borns in the school could be attacked by then!"

" _Harry_ ," said Sephiroth imploringly, "we promised Aerith—"

"Aerith, Cloud, and Zack would understand that it's for the safety of the Muggle-borns," said Harry.

"Yes, but you don't want to _tell them_ anything," Sephiroth protested. "They'll want to know why we're staying at Hogwarts, Zack was already planning Christmas in his last letter—there haven't been any attacks recently, why would that change—"

"If you want to go home so badly, then you can go," said Genesis irritably. "We'll just be making sure the Muggle-borns don't all die."

Sephiroth tried to hide his flinch, but didn't quite succeed. He didn't know how Genesis thought, for a single moment, that he would be able to leave Hogwarts without Harry. They had never been apart for long, the longest being when the Dursley separated them before they were rescued, and it had felt like a slow and lonely death.

"It's the best plan we've got," said Harry quietly.

There was no point in arguing once Harry agreed to staying for Christmas break, although Sephiroth was tempted to make Harry write the letter explaining they were staying at school. The flood of letters from Zack, who would undoubtedly be disappointed and want to know why they were staying, could be all on Harry, as far as Sephiroth was concerned.

Except he wasn't like that, even when he felt spiteful, and ended up writing the letter himself. He had rewritten the first sentence of the letter five times before remembering Christmas break was still a month away, and he had time to figure out an explanation.

"Don't worry about it," said Harry later that evening, looking pasty and very worried. He sat stiffly on one of the sofas in the common room, his homework spread on the table in front of him and untouched.

"Well, at the very least, if you lose you'll know it's because of those brooms," said Genesis.

"Lose?" echoed Sephiroth, before he was hit with a jolt of realization. "Your first Quidditch match is tomorrow?"

Harry nodded, seeming even more worried than he was seconds ago.

"While you're up there," said Ron in an undertone, "try to knock one of them off their broom, it'd be a lot less of a hassle for us."

"One Slytherin out of commission isn't going to make a world of difference," said Genesis flatly.

"And you could be knocking over an innocent person," said Angeal, throwing Ron a disapproving stare. "There's one heir of Slytherin, the entire house isn't our enemy."

"Tell that to the crowds during Quidditch matches," Ron grumbled.

The others continued complaining or defending the actions of the other houses during Quidditch matches. Sephiroth didn't dread the upcoming game as much as usual, reassured knowing that Zack, Cloud, and Aerith had promised they would come and watch it. That meant he could worry slightly less over whether or not Harry was going to fall and break his neck. Of course, Sephiroth would also have to tell Zack neither he or Harry would be leaving Hogwarts for Christmas break.

They went to bed early that night, saying their goodbyes to Hermione and heading up to their dormitory. Neville was already in bed, nose-deep in a book about plants, and Sephiroth made a mental note to introduce him to Aerith. He could see them getting along well.

Ever since Neville gave him the dream-catcher, his sleeps had been dreamless and peaceful. It did wonders for his concentration during homework sessions, even if he wasn't any more excited for them than he was before he started using the dream-catcher. He hadn't realized how tired he actually was until he got a couple nights of fitful rest.

Next morning, Sephiroth left the dormitory with Harry—who was ashen and looked sick to his stomach—anticipating the arrival of Zack, Cloud, and Aerith. If anything could cheer Harry up from his stressed daze it was them, since nothing unfortunate was likely to happen if they were around to stop it. Sephiroth almost kicked himself, nothing was as certain to invoke bad luck as such blind positivity.

"Why do you two look like someone killed your pet?" asked Genesis over breakfast.

Sephiroth almost choked on his milk, forcibly reminded of the fact Shinra was still missing after a couple months, without the smallest sign of hide or hair.

" _Genesis_ ," snapped Angeal.

"I didn't mean it like that," said Genesis hastily. He motioned wildly at them over the table, narrowly missing the jug of milk. "Just look at their faces! Harry I understand—he'll probably get eaten alive by the Slytherins today—but Sephiroth's got no excuse! . . . You know the offer to burn their brooms is still on the table?"

"No it's not," said Angeal, massaging his forehead. He glanced up at Sephiroth and Harry abruptly. "Did you two ever write to your guardians about Lockhart?"

Harry's back went bolt straight.

"I _knew_ I was forgetting something!"

"Someone's due for a poisoning," said Genesis giddily.

They left the Great Hall once breakfast was finished—Harry keeping closer to the Gryffindor team as Wood started giving out last-minute advice and pep-talks—and were met by Zack, Cloud, and Aerith themselves in the entrance hall. Sephiroth didn't see any professors around, so either they had already gotten away, or they had just arrived and the professors didn't know. In particular was Professor Snape, who was going to spend the rest of his day skulking around the castle because of their visit.

"You're here!" said Harry, breaking off from the Gryffindor team to greet them. The rest of the team trailed behind him out of curiosity.

Zack ruffled Harry's hair with a grin.

"Told you I wouldn't miss it," he said.

Sephiroth tried to duck out of the way, but was too late to avoid Zack's enthusiastic hair-ruffling. He batted away Zack's hand, turning to Cloud instead and expertly ignoring Zack's plaintive cry.

"You came, too?"

Out of the three of them, Cloud didn't seem like the type to enjoy sports.

"We dragged him along," said Aerith, sounding all too amused. "It does us all good to take a break every now and then."

"And guess what?" said Zack, beaming in triumph. "I finally landed myself a job! And it's lasted a whole week! It's at a warehouse, I'm moving wares around, loading trucks—it takes a lot of stamina, so it's perfect."

Sephiroth opened his mouth, overjoyed to hear Zack had finally managed to keep a job, but Genesis interrupted before he could get a word edgewise.

"I'll give you another week," he said, snickering.

His snickers turned into a yelp when Sephiroth aimed a kick at his ribs.

"He'll last longer than a week!"

A fight would have broken out, Genesis grabbing at his side and spitting fire at Sephiroth, but Zack stepped in. He dropped a heavy hand on each of their heads, smiling as if he didn't know that he almost put cricks in their necks. Genesis threw a baleful glare at Zack, straightening his hair out. Before long, Wood called Harry over to prepare for the match, and the team left the entrance hall looking as though they were headed off to battle.

"What's up with them?" asked Zack, watching after them in bewilderment.

"The Slytherins," said Ron sympathetically. "They've got these new brooms and Malfoy bought his way onto the team."

"Malfoy's _Dad—_ "

"Who Malfoy pestered into doing it, I'm sure," said Ron, seeming very unimpressed with Sephiroth's attempts at defending Draco.

Sephiroth could understand the Weasley family's dislike toward Lucius Malfoy, who actively made Mr. Weasley's life at work as hard as possible. But Draco was an entirely different person, and Sephiroth had seen that for himself in Knockturn Alley.

"You mean Lucius Malfoy?" said Cloud, apparently having tuned into the conversation at the mention of the Malfoys. He was decidedly displeased. "We ran into him outside. He's here to watch his son's first match."

"Draco's the Slytherin team's Seeker," said Sephiroth before Ron or Genesis could say anything demeaning.

"His father didn't seem to like us very much," said Zack thoughtfully. "Just gave a curt greeting and took off."

There was no saying how much of that was just Lucius Malfoy's personality, or that he really didn't like Zack, Cloud, and Aerith. Sephiroth didn't see how he could dislike Zack—or how anyone could, in that matter. Zack always seemed to give people the benefit of the doubt, even refusing to allow first impressions to rule what he thought of Professor Snape. Although, Sephiroth thought it wouldn't harm anyone to go with first impressions. Even if Professor Snape had a softer side that he hid from everyone, he wasn't about to show it to Sephiroth or Zack.

They reached the Quidditch pitch before the game started, finding seats by the railing so that if Sephiroth could jump off to help Harry—not that Harry would appreciate it, but Sephiroth suspected they were going to go through that every year—should he fall off his broom.

Zack whistled, leaning over the edge of the railing to look down at the ground. The Gryffindor team had joined the Slytherins on the pitch.

"We're up pretty high," he said. "How far are they going to fly above us?"

"By those rings," said Angeal, pointing at the goalposts. "They knock the Quaffles through them to get points."

"Right," said Zack. "Ten points to each score?"

"Yeah," said Angeal with a nod.

Hermione pushed around Genesis, who let out a sound of protest at the treatment that she appeared not to hear, and stopped in front of Sephiroth. He knew instantly what she wanted and wished he could disappear, or that she would forget something for once in her life. It was one thing allowing her to tie his hair up during matches with that ribbon normally, but Zack, Cloud, and Aerith were all watching.

"Oh, don't be like that," huffed Hermione, motioning with her hand. "Hand it here."

"Hand what over?" asked Cloud, looking between the two of them.

"A ribbon," said Genesis, smirking. "It's all right, Sephiroth—not like you're wearing a dress or anything."

Cloud's entire body went tense and Zack suddenly choked on his spit. Aerith stared at them, and then broke into giggles.

" _Shut up_ ," said Sephiroth, his face heating up.

"Yes, do be quiet," said Hermione sharply.

"My bad, of course," said Genesis, all innocence and earnestness. "It was a hag's costume, not a dress."

Sephiroth lunged to strangle him, and then maybe throw him off the side of the stands—Genesis was like himself, he'd be fine—for bringing up what was probably one of the most embarrassing things to happen to him in front of everyone. On top of that, he did it just so they could get that book for their unnecessary plan, and feed into their distrust of all things Slytherin related.

He never reached Genesis, Zack plucking him out of the air and setting him down on the other side of Hermione, away from Genesis.

"You may continue," said Zack to Hermione, giving Sephiroth's hair a small tug.

Hermione offered him a thanks, proceeding to yank Sephiroth's hair up with— _why was the ribbon pink_?

" _Hermione_!"

"You and Genesis need to stop fighting over every little thing—"

"That is absolutely ridiculous—you and he do the exact same thing!"

"We do not _fight_ ," Hermione sniffed imperiously. "We debate our differing views."

"Is that what you call it?" he asked woodenly. "Can you at least turn the color back?"

"There's nothing wrong with pink," said Aerith benignly.

Hermione nodded sharply in agreement, and Sephiroth felt as though he was somehow getting punished for Genesis trying to humiliate him. That was just too unfair and he had to force himself not to sulk. She finished the bun on his head—he dreaded to know what it looked like, so help him if she tied a _bow—_ and gave a pleased nod.

Standing between Zack and Aerith, Cloud looked completely nonplussed. He watched them as though everything they did and said was surreal, something that couldn't be a part of reality. It that same look he seemed to have all the time, especially when Harry or Genesis, or any of the others, were interacting with Sephiroth. He clearly wasn't used to witnessing Sephiroth being teased or reprimanded with a pink ribbon (something that was entirely unjust and undignified—he really needed to learn the Transfiguration spell for changing colors).

"It's always getting all over the place," said Hermione, patting the silver hair piled onto Sephiroth's head with pride. "He really needs a haircut."

If his face wasn't flaming red before, it was now. He didn't think he could get any more embarrassed.

"So, what was that about a dress?" asked Zack offhandedly.

Life just loved to prove him wrong.

"It was for a school project," said Angeal.

" _Angeal_!" said Sephiroth, aghast.

"Lockhart made him dress up as a hag," Angeal finished.

"He did what?" said Aerith, suddenly not nearly as amused.

"Harry must have forgotten to write you," said Ron. "Lockhart was—"

There was a cry from the crowd and people were pointing into the sky. Sephiroth's heart did a flip, horrified in himself. He hadn't payed any attention to Harry's match since it started, he had even been _relaxed_ while Harry flew up hundreds of feet in the air.

He found Harry, a small red and gold form against the gray sky, zooming around in a bizarre pattern. He was flying away from a Bludger, which seemed out to hit Harry and only Harry. When George darted at the Bludger, hammering it with his bat toward another Slytherin player—one of the chasers, Sephiroth didn't know his name—the Bludger did an about-face in mid-air and hurtled back toward Harry.

"What's going on?" asked Cloud.

"Is that supposed to happen?" said Zack in concern, frowning.

"No," said Ron, squinting at the Bludger as it did a sharp right turn and almost smacked Harry across the face. "It's been fixed my someone—probably the Slytherins."

"Haven't the Bludgers been in Madam Hooch's office, though?" said Genesis. "How would they get them?"

"I don't know," said Ron darkly, "how would they Pet—"

Hermione stepped on his foot.

The Bludger dropped and Harry was forced to do an awkward flip to avoid being crushed—the Slytherin crowd was laughing obnoxiously and not for the first time Sephiroth wondered _how_ they could find anything like that funny. When the Bludger almost sent Harry careening off his broom, Sephiroth started searching for a way to stop it.

He didn't know any spells that could destroy it—he bitterly noted how nice it would have been, to have a good Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—and all he could find laying around was a couple rocks and litter from previous games.

"Aerith, what materia do you have?" asked Zack, going through his pockets. He looked frustrated. "I wasn't expecting a _game_ to be so dangerous—"

And if Harry wasn't currently almost dying, Sephiroth would have said, " _I told you so._ "

That was when Harry stopped dead, hovering several dozen feet away from Draco, looking at something small and glinting that flew inches above Draco's head—he had spotted the Snitch.

" _Harry!_ "

Sephiroth acted without thinking, the Bludger moments away from colliding with Harry, grabbing one of the rocks he found and whipping it through the air. He had never tested his aim before, didn't know how good he was—and was unspeakably relieved when the Bludger smashed into bits from the impact.

"What was that?" gasped Ron. "It just blew up—"

"You actually _hit it?_ " said Genesis, his eyes widened.

"You did that?!"

"None of the debris hit him, did they?" asked Sephiroth, searching Harry for injuries—but even with his enhanced vision, he couldn't see that well. It didn't help that Harry lunged for the Snitch as soon as he wasn't in danger of being killed with a rogue Bludger.

"He's unharmed," said Aerith.

"You guys don't have any idea what caused that just now?" asked Zack.

"No," said Hermione. "But it's definitely been jinxed."

Harry dropped like a stone, diving for the Snitch and passing straight by Draco, who nearly fell off his broom trying to get out of the way. Sephiroth figured he hadn't seen what Harry was after yet, or he'd be a lot more frantic.

For a whole five seconds, Sephiroth was sure the match would end without any real injuries—then the Bludger Fred smacked toward one of the Slytherin chasers changed direction. There was no time to react as the Bludger slammed into Harry's arm so hard that Sephiroth heard the crack of bone from across the pitch.

Harry swayed on his broom—Sephiroth was already half over the railing, Cloud reaching over with lightning reflexes to grab the back of his uniform—and Harry continued flying. His arm was bent an unnatural angle at his side, leaning against his broom to keep from falling off, his one good arm outstretched—

He toppled off his broom, crashing onto the ground and rolling several feet before coming to stop, utterly motionless.

Sephiroth yanked against Cloud's grip, knowing instantly there was no way he was escaping by brute strength, and slipped out of his robes. Cloud was left holding onto Sephiroth's Hogwarts robes as he plummeted over the edge of the stands to the ground below.

The Gryffindor team had already crowded around him, several professors making their way onto the field. Sephiroth was annoyed to find one of them was Gilderoy Lockhart, lavender robes billowing out behind him dramatically. Harry had landed on the opposite side of the pitch, so by the time Sephiroth reached them Lockhart already had his wand out, his grin all shiny teeth and bravado.

"Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."

"Get _away_ ," snarled Sephiroth, shoving him aside. "You'll only make things worse."

"You're in the way of a professional," said Lockhart sternly, his grin losing a couple molars. "Now, if you'd kindly step aside?"

"Madam Pomfrey will—"

"Listen here, boy—"

Some of the constant charisma dropped and Lockhart tried to push him aside—Cloud and Zack seemed to appear next to them, expressions thunderous—and Lockhart pointed his wand at Harry, a spell on his lips. Sephiroth helpfully planted himself in front of Harry—

And dropped to the ground as the entire bottom half of his body disappeared out from under him.

* * *

 **A/N: Everyone was wondering how Sephiroth would react to Harry's arm being vanished... but the real question is what Zack, Cloud, and Aerith are going to do to Lockhart over Sephiroth's legs. (He's getting what's been coming to him for a while). Also, thanks to everyone who pointed out the error last chapter! I typed "bat" instead of "cat." It's fixed now! :D**

 **Guest: "Somebody should draw a Lilikin Sephy in a Pumpkin." ... I've been trying to think of a meaningful and symbolic cover art for Edelweiss, but I think Lilikin Sephiroth in a pumpkin just won out. XD**

 **GammaCavy: More subtle changes that snowball over time appeal to me more. It's very similar to a ripple affect kind of thing, I think... I didn't know Lockhart being Nicholas Flamel was even a theory! That certainly puts a unique spin on Lockhart O.o I wonder what Perenelle thought, if he was Flamel, when he erased his own memory?**

 **Guest: Sephiroth and Harry might not be returning home for Christmas this year, but Zack, Aerith, and Cloud aren't going to let them go that easily ;)**

 **Thanks for all your favorites, follows, and reviews! Until next week! :D**


	15. Chapter 15

15

Sephiroth fell backwards, supported by Cloud's arm against his upper back. His legs hadn't really disappeared, but for all they were limp and useless under him, they might as well have been gone.

An uproar was going on around him, Harry was struggling to sit up despite his broken arm and the bruises peppering his entire body. Zack had shoved ahead of the Gryffindor team—there was a blur of motion, a sharp _crack,_ and Lockhart's head whipped back as Zack's fist slammed into the side of his face. Lockhart's fall was broken by Zack grabbing his collar, jerking him back.

" _What did you do?_ " he yelled.

Lockhart was too dazed to be properly terrified, mumbling something about spells and the occasional backfire.

"Aerith—" Cloud looked relieved to see her maneuvering through the Gryffindor team, which was now joined by the Slytherins. "Something happened to his legs and Harry's arm is broken."

Aerith knelt by Sephiroth, one hand hovering over his legs, before she drew back quickly.

"His bones are gone," she said, horrified.

"His bones are what?" said Zack, his arm pulled back in mid-punch and stopped inches away from Lockhart's face. Lockhart whimpered. "Gone? How can his bones be _gone?_ "

"Magic?" said Sephiroth vaguely. His feet were pointing in two different directions. He forced himself to look away before he could start feeling sick. It didn't hurt, but that didn't make it any less disturbing.

"I can mend bones," said Aerith, glancing at Harry's arm. She was holding onto something glassy and round, resembling a marble. It gave off a soft glow. "I don't know if it'll regrow them, though."

The Slytherin team had been watching in silence the entire time, but when Aerith brought out the glowing marble—it might have been that materia type of magic Zack had told Sephiroth about ages ago, but he wasn't sure—Draco pushed through. He was pale, eyes darting from Sephiroth's legs (Sephiroth reminded himself again not to look) to Aerith, back to Sephiroth again.

"Wait for Madam Pomfrey," he said hastily. "Just wait for Madam Pomfrey, she can fix up anything."

"What's going on here?"

Madam Hooch had arrived, her cat-like eyes instantly finding Sephiroth and Harry. The dots visibly connected themselves in her mind and she turned to Zack, who was holding a limp Lockhart by the back of his robes. Lockhart's feathered hat had fallen off his head in the tussle and was being trampled into the dirt by the surrounding people.

"Alright," she said, as though she was used to people having their bones vanished in Quidditch and it was to be expected. "Right—to the Hospital Wing with you two."

"This will heal Harry," said Aerith, holding up the materia. "It's healing magic, it'll work in seconds."

Madam Hooch didn't look like she trusted the materia much, but didn't stop Aerith as she held it over Harry's arm. For a moment, it glowed golden—Harry winced as his arm set itself. Within seconds, his arm was good as new and Sephiroth was hoping it would work on his legs.

"Does it hurt?" asked Draco, seeming to have abandoned all pretenses of being haughty or arrogant in favor of standing nervously over Sephiroth.

"No," said Sephiroth.

Cloud scooped him up without warning, leaving Sephiroth grasping wildly at his shoulder in fear of falling off. His legs weren't working and didn't appear to be healing—he didn't even know if his limbs could regrow and he'd never given it much thought. What if his legs, or the bones at least, were gone forever?

He was carried to the Hospital Wing by Cloud, the Gryffindor team plus Draco trailing after him. Zack had dropped Lockhart at some point, leaving him to the rest of the Slytherin team and Madam Hooch's mercy. Professor McGonagall had strode out onto the pitch in Lockhart's direction, so Sephiroth figured he was about to get all the hexes and curses that he had deserved for a while.

"So the materia isn't working?" asked Zack.

"I don't know how it'll react," Aerith replied, frowning. "They're two different types of magic and Madam Hooch said Poppy had something for vanished bones."

"No changes?" said Cloud to Sephiroth. "Nothing's hurting?"

Sephiroth shook his head. The feeling of numbness from his waist down was far more disconcerting than pain, though. He'd rather feel something than nothing at all.

It occurred to him, as they were marching up the stairs to the hospital, that Madam Pomfrey was going to be absolutely furious. She groused about the frequency of his visits every time he was in the hospital, whether it was for an injury or not. Having all the bones vanished from his legs was taking it to a whole new level.

" _I cannot believe that man!_ "

Zack, Cloud, and Aerith stood aside, the only ones allowed to remain in the hospital. She had sent the Gryffindor team away, Harry loudly protesting, and Draco had been muttering furiously under his breath about his father. Whether it was through Zack's beating or Aerith's herbal remedies (Sephiroth saw the dark look she threw Lockhart and it wasn't promising flowers, that was for sure), or even an innocent letter to Lucius Malfoy, Lockhart was ruined.

"We would have come straight here," said Aerith worriedly, "but by the time we got there—"

"Yes, leave it to him to give no one time to breathe," snapped Madam Pomfrey. "When I get my hands on him, just wait . . ."

Well, she would be in line. Missing bones or not, Sephiroth suspected he was going to enjoy the next couple weeks.

"I can mend bones in a second—but growing them back—"

"It's possible, isn't it?" said Zack. "It's nothing permanent?"

That only made Sephiroth's stomach clench in fear. He would essentially paralyzed from the waist down, unable to walk or run or do any of the things he had taken for granted until that moment. There were few things he could think of that were much worse.

"I'll be able to, don't worry yourselves," said Madam Pomfrey swiftly. She pulled out a pair of hospital pajamas, tossing them at Sephiroth. "You'll have to stay the night, though. And it'll be painful."

"How painful are we talking?" said Zack, looking even more concerned about the pain than Sephiroth felt.

"Regrowing bones painful," said Madam Pomfrey unhelpfully.

Getting into the pajamas was a struggle, his boneless legs uncooperative and awkward, and the thought of asking for help getting dressed was even more horrifying than the way his ankles got tangled in the fabric. Regardless of his willingness to accept help, Cloud seemed to sense—ten minutes after he drew the curtain around his bed—that he was having issues.

The rebuke was unspoken but clearly there— _don't be afraid to ask for help_.

Sephiroth leaned against the back of his cot, preparing himself for a night of boredom. That was when Zack pulled up three extra cots, giving him an incredulous look when he asked what Zack was doing.

"We're not just letting you stay in a hospital all night by yourself," he said in admonishment. He dropped the serious act, reaching over the ruffle his hair with a chuckle. "Who knows what kind of trouble you'll get yourself into."

Sephiroth ducked his head and did his best not to smile, unsuccessfully.

"But wait," he said a moment later, "what about your job? You just started and if you miss—"

"It's the _weekend_ ," said Zack, shaking his head. "What kind of kid forgets it's the weekend?"

"You don't have to worry about our financial issues, really," said Aerith. "Just focus on making your bones grow faster."

"Yeah, I'll do that," said Sephiroth, dry as a desert. "I'll ask them and they'll grow right back."

They incurred a round of laughter, punctuated by the hospital door opening and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Genesis, and Angeal peering in. Once they were assured Madam Pomfrey wasn't in sight to usher them off to stop them crowding Sephiroth, they quickly made their way inside.

"How's the regrowing?" said Genesis, reaching over to poke at Sephiroth's legs.

Angeal stopped him, to Sephiroth's relief.

"The amount of irresponsibility is astounding!" Hermione ranted as she inspected Sephiroth's legs. "Defense against the dark arts and the healing arts are two very different things! That he even attempted a spell he wasn't good at—just imagining everything _else_ that could have gone wrong!"

"It could have been worse?" said Sephiroth, grimacing.

"He could have vanished your veins, too," said Hermione grimly. "Internal organs—you're lucky it was your legs. If it was your ribs he vanished—"

She broke off with a shudder.

"What he did was beyond irresponsible, it was nothing short of life-threatening."

Hearing that from Hermione, who had staunchly defended Lockhart despite all their claims that he was untrustworthy and otherwise, only increased his dread for what could have happened. That she was so adamant over it, enough to have entirely given up on Lockhart—it was a truly unforgivable blunder.

The Skele-Gro potion was awful. There was no other way to describe it other than truly, horribly awful and Sephiroth hated every dose he was forced to consume. It seared his throat as it went down, burning in his stomach and making his head fuzzy. His eyes teared up from the burning in his mouth, struggling to gulp down water and try to wash away the aftertaste.

"Let's not forget, the person responsible for this is whoever enchanted that Bludger," said Genesis. "If the Bludger didn't go after Harry, his arm would've never been broken and Lockhart wouldn't have tried to be a _hero_."

"About that," said Cloud, breaking into the conversation. "How do you enchant Bludgers at all? Sephiroth said they were kept in Madam Hooch's office, so they would have had to break in there."

"It's not hard to break into offices," said Angeal benignly, ignoring the odd looks it earned him. "As for the enchanting . . . it would take exceptional magic to do it."

"An upper year?" suggested Aerith.

"Maybe it was a prank gone wrong," said Zack thoughtfully. "Either way, it can't happen again. Quidditch is dangerous enough without rogue Bludgers."

"I know," said Sephiroth in rush, glad that someone was finally seeing Quidditch from his side. "Last year it was Harry's broom being jinxed, and now a Bludger—"

"Something like that happened last year?" said Cloud in confusion.

Sephiroth's voice choked off.

"We never told you?"

They had kept a lot of the more dangerous aspects of Hogwarts secret for fear of Zack, Cloud, and Aerith disapproving of their school. Now, Sephiroth was regretting it. He didn't even remember what they had left out and what they explained.

"Does the name Fluffy ring any bells?" said Sephiroth cautiously.

"It was a three-headed monster dog," said Genesis bluntly. Aerith, Cloud, and Zack did _not_ look okay with that, but Genesis didn't seem to care very much. "There's a lot going on in Hogwarts—I'm pretty sure it's a normal thing. At least, it's happened each year we've been here. Maybe next year will be peaceful?"

"Are there no inspections in this school?" said Zack weakly. "Checking—I don't know—leaky roofs? Doors? Insulation?"

"There are wards and enchantments for those," said Hermione, before hesitating. "There's no tuition, so I'm guessing the school is funded my the Ministry . . . I don't know if there are inspections."

She looked somewhat bothered by that fact.

"Well, if there were inspections, they'd have had a problem with Fluffy and the Mirror of Erised," said Genesis with a snort.

"They did warn us about Fluffy," said Harry.

"They warned you about a three-headed monster dog?" said Zack flatly.

"Under threat of a grizzly and most horrible death," said Genesis, grinning. "Dumbledore knows how to spark interest."

"I think I'm having a talk with your Headmaster later," Zack mumbled.

"That voice," said Cloud suddenly, turning to Sephiroth and Harry. "You haven't heard anything else from it, have you?"

"Hold that thought, Cloud," said Aerith—which was an incredible relief, because Sephiroth had absolutely no idea what to say. Harry didn't want to tell them and Sephiroth wasn't inclined to agree. "You can come in!"

"What?" said Genesis, whirling to the door. "But no one's—what're _you_ doing here?"

Sephiroth couldn't see the door, the curtain partially drawn, so he didn't know who had arrived until Draco marched himself in front of the cot. He was doing his best not to look embarrassed that he had been caught by Aerith, standing outside the hospital door.

"I broke a finger in the game," said Draco, refusing to meet their eyes. "That's why I'm here."

"Sephiroth is glad to see you, too," said Aerith, smiling kindly.

Any other time, Sephiroth would have protested someone guessing what he felt. Except it was Aerith and she was right, he was glad to see Draco. Even if Draco wouldn't admit he had come to visit Sephiroth for reasons that would always baffle him.

"I'm not—" Draco cut himself off. He held up his hand, which was turning purple on one side. "I really did break my finger."

Zack eyed him, unconvinced.

"You didn't break that just to get an excuse to come in here, did you?"

"What? No, what kind of lunatic would do that?!" Draco drew himself up, trying his best to look dignified. "It hurt and I wanted it healed—where's Madam Pomfrey?"

Aerith beckoned him over with the heal materia, seeming incredibly amused with Draco's attitude. Sephiroth watched in bewilderment as Draco denied her help five different ways as he walked straight up to her—and promptly accepted her help.

" _Merlin_ ," said Genesis, watching the scene owlishly. "I thought you had some kind of hidden agenda, but—you're just pathetic, you know that?"

" _I'm_ pathetic?" snapped Draco. "Who's the one whose family is—"

" _Okay_!" Zack interrupted as Genesis jumped to his feet. "Let's not insult anyone's families, alright? No one likes that. Genesis, sit down—Ron, wand away—Angeal, were you going to throw that?"

Angeal set down the glass of water guiltily and Ron stowed his wand in his sleeve, glancing away. Genesis dropped back into his chair, scowling the entire time.

"I get you guys might not get along, but you're all here for the same reason," said Zack. He hooked an arm around Sephiroth's shoulders and pulled him into an affectionate half-hug. "And that's because this guy gets into trouble all the time."

Half of the time he got hurt was because of the others' harebrained plans, but Sephiroth refrained from pointing that out.

"Do you have any idea of who enchanted that Bludger?" asked Cloud to Draco.

"No—"

"That's likely," mumbled Ron.

"It's the truth," Draco spat in his direction. "No one from Slytherin enchanted the bloody thing. Why would we do that? We're confident enough without having the Bludger go after Potter."

"Says the ones who cheat all the—"

"That's enough," said Cloud. "We just wanted to ask."

Madam Pomfrey came in a short while later and sent Draco away, along with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Genesis, and Angeal. They complained loudly as they left, running into the Gryffindor team, who were carrying jugs of pumkin juice and bags of sweets. It appeared as though they wanted to start a party, only for Madam Pomfrey to mercilessly shoot them down.

Having a party would have been preferable, sharp pangs starting to stab up and down Sephiroth's legs. It felt as though there were hundreds of little needles floating around the inside of his legs, occasionally catching his skin. Madam Pomfrey briefly checked his legs, letting out a disgruntled sigh.

"They're healing faster than they should be," she said.

"Is that a problem?" asked Aerith.

"Not normally," she said. "But that healing of his . . . I'm convinced it's most of his problems summed up. It eats into his reserves. I've been looking for a remedy, but nothing's working."

"A remedy?"

The look on Cloud's face was chilly.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't cowed for a second. She scoffed, filling the cap of the Skele-Gro with another dose. She shoved it under Sephiroth's nose.

"This is the last dose for the night, don't give me that look." She leaned back and finally answered Cloud's question. "I'm not doing any mad—honestly, going off your reactions you'd expect I was torturing the boy."

They talked back and forth about all things medical for so long, Sephiroth started to drift off. He was bored, his legs bothering him more and more as the day wore on, and there didn't seem to be a stop. He still couldn't move his legs and according the Madam Pomfrey, the regrowing process had only just started.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but he woke up next morning, his legs practically shrieking at him. He hissed, sitting up and was divided between relief and annoyance when his legs actually responded. They were healing, but the process was insanely painful. Dull light was filtering in through a partially open window, the curtains around his cot flapping in the crisp breeze.

"Good morning," came Aerith's voice. She was sitting up on one of the cots Zack dragged over the day before, smiling and chipper, as she always was in the mornings. "Did you sleep well? How are your legs feeling?"

Sephiroth wasn't entirely able to contain a wince.

"They're aching," he admitted. There was another cot in the room, curtains drawn around it. "Did someone else come in last night?"

Sadness stole over her face.

"A boy was attacked last night," she said. "He's been Petrified. The professors are looking into it and informing the boy's family—they said he should be well as soon as the Mandrakes are mature."

She had the materia she used to heal him and Draco clasped in her hands, rolling between each palm, a troubled look on her face.

"This should have been enough to reverse petrification," she murmured. "But it didn't work."

Sephiroth sat up, ignoring the aching in his legs. Ever since Mrs. Norris was attacked, he had dreaded that whoever Petrified her would eventually turn to humans, and now it had happened.

"Who was it?" he asked, afraid to hear a familiar name.

"Colin Creevey," said Aerith, glancing at the curtains that hid Colin's Petrified form. "He was sneaking around after dark . . ."

There was no doubting that Colin's habit of following Sephiroth and Harry around had been annoying, along with his constant questions—but that someone would attack him was unthinkable. He looked up to Harry and he didn't seem to find anything about Sephiroth strange or unnerving.

"They don't know who did it."

Sephiroth turned quickly, finding Cloud sitting in the same chair he had been in before Sephiroth fell asleep. Sephiroth briefly wondered if he sat in the same chair all night long.

There was a scuff of wood against stone as Cloud leaned forward, nudging a tray of food toward Sephiroth.

"Eat up, you never had dinner last night—Zack's getting more right now." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "You know . . . you and Harry can tell us whatever. If something happens, we want to hear about it."

"Your school's caretaker's pet was attacked weeks ago," said Aerith.

Sephiroth tried and failed to think of an adequate reason for why he didn't write them about everything that had happened. Neither himself or Harry had wanted to worry them about it, and even though Sephiroth knew they weren't anything like the Durlseys—never had and never would be—it was still taking him a while to understand he could write them at any time. Hearing voices was strange no matter how they worded it, so Harry really hadn't wanted to tell them.

They didn't look disappointed, which was an incredible relief—Sephiroth didn't know what he would have done if they were disappointed in him.

Aerith let out a little sigh, bracing her hands on her hips.

"I'll have to talk to Harry about keeping secrets," she said, only half serious. She smiled at Sephiroth. "I'm not upset, don't worry. But you really shouldn't carry all these burdens on your own, not when us adults are here to carry them for you."

And for that alone, Sephiroth spilled everything they had discovered about the Chamber of Secrets, the heir of Slytherin, their suspicions on who was causing the attacks. He didn't tell them about the Polyjuice potion plan, with any luck they would be able to help enough that there wouldn't be a need for the Polyjuice potion.

"So someone is taking an old legend too far," said Aerith thoughtfully.

The hospital door opened and Zack appeared, a tray held in his hands. Sephiroth's stomach rumbled at the sight of food and he almost jumped straight off the cot to snatch the tray away. He was reminded why that was a bad idea when his legs twinged, and instead waited for Zack to hand him the tray. There was an assortment of just about every breakfast food and Sephiroth immediately set to emptying the plates.

"At least that veracious appetite hasn't dwindled," Zack commented with amusement. He motioned to Sephiroth's legs. "How's it going?"

Sephiroth cautiously lifted one leg off the cot, the little stabbing pangs having decreased slightly. They were still there, but it no longer felt like he had an army of ants biting the inside of his legs.

"Better," he said.

Zack nodded, dropping into one of the chairs as Aerith filled him in on everything Sephiroth told her. He hummed in understanding, only interrupting once or twice to ask a question. When she finished, he shook his head in exasperation.

"You kids," he said. "Why do you feel the need to keep this all to yourselves?"

After Sephiroth finished his tray of food, Madam Pomfrey arrived, making a beeline for his cot. She had him go through various stretches to ensure his bones had regrown right, nodding in approval when she decided he was healed up to her standards.

"You'll be stiff for a couple days, I'd assume," she said, "but aside from that, you're free to leave."

They left the hospital wing, giving Madam Pomfrey a thanks for healing him up yet again (she told him to thank her by curbing his habit of getting injured in the first place), and headed toward Gryffindor Tower. Sephiroth was eager to show Zack, Aerith, and Cloud the common room, since they hadn't seen it the last time they visited. He couldn't help but wonder where his friends and brother had gotten off to—they hadn't been there to greet him that morning.

"Hermione's probably got them doing homework already," said Sephiroth, navigating the moving staircases toward the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Careful, watch the third step—it'll eat your foot—"

He didn't find hide or hair of Harry, or any of the others, in the common room, so he left Aerith, Zack, and Cloud in front of the fireplace to check the dormitory. Last he saw of them before heading up the stairs was Zack being swarmed by Fred and George and eerily identical grins spreading across each of their faces. They got along rather well, but Sephiroth didn't know what that meant for Hogwarts.

The only person left in their dorm was Neville, who was pouring over the same book he was a day ago. When he saw Sephiroth, he immediately put the book down.

"You're out of the hospital!" he said, and then hastily added, "I mean, of course you are—how're your legs?"

"They're fine," said Sephiroth.

"Y-Yeah!" Neville looked embarrassed. "How else did you walk here. I was just wondering. . . . Are you looking for something?"

"My brother," said Sephiroth sourly. "And Genesis, Angeal, and Ron. Hermione's missing, too."

"Oh," said Neville. "They all left a while ago—maybe you missed them?"

"Maybe," Sephiroth grumbled, although he doubted it. In fact, if he had to guess, he'd say they were all in Myrtle's bathroom, hovering over that potion book. "Oh! Neville, d'you want to meet my guardians? One of them—Aerith—she likes plants, like you do. Flowers, especially, but she likes just about any kind of plant—"

Neville seemed excited for all of ten seconds, before his self-doubt set in again.

"Will they want to meet me?" he asked as he followed Sephiroth out of the dorm, fidgeting with his sleeve. "I'm not the best in Herbology—she probably knows loads more than I do . . ."

"Actually Aerith's still learning about magical things," said Sephiroth. "And Zack and Cloud are . . . muggles. Kind of."

He didn't know if two enhanced superhumans counted as muggles, but they didn't have magic like wizards and witches.

"They're not here?" said Cloud as Sephiroth walked over to them, Neville in tow.

Sephiroth shook his head.

"No, but this is Neville," he said. "He's one of the best in Herbology—don't deny it, you've always got the right answers in class and no one likes Herbology as much as you—"

Aerith managed to pick up a conversation with Neville about herbology. Once he got over his shyness and warmed up to Aerith, Cloud, and Zack, Neville had plenty to talk about. Sephiroth didn't know half the things they were talking about, from the plants to the strange terminology that Neville and Aerith both seemed to have mastered, but he did his best to sound like understood. Aerith saw through his guise and started explaining everything they were talking about in detail, aided by Neville.

The portrait door swung open nearly a half hour later, and Harry and Angeal walked through. They spotted Sephiroth and rushed over immediately.

"There you are!" said Harry, slightly winded. "We've been searching the entire castle—you weren't in the hospital, and then we couldn't find you in the Great Hall—what're you doing here?"

"Looking for you guys," said Sephiroth. "Where's Hermione, Ron, and Genesis?"

"We split up," said Harry, which wasn't an answer.

"Not searching for clues about the Chamber of Secrets, are they?" asked Zack cheerily.

Harry and Angeal looked like deer caught in a headlight, and Zack laughed at their reaction.

"Did you find anything interesting?" he asked, eliciting even more surprised looks. "Man, you'd think I was going to reprimand you or something. There's nothing wrong with research."

"Actually, about that," said Harry suddenly. "I found out who enchanted the Bludger—and who stopped the barrier from working. It was _Dobby_."

Over the past couple months, Sephiroth had speculated what had caused the barrier to stop working, but he hadn't thought of Dobby once. Except it made perfect sense, not that he thought about it. Dobby had tried to "help" Harry by preventing him going to Hogwarts back before the year even started. Sephiroth wouldn't put it passed Dobby to try and stop them again.

"But why the Bludger?" said Sephiroth. "Was he trying to kill you?"

"He said he was only trying to help," said Harry, scowling. "If I get my hands on him . . . we could have _died_ because the barrier wasn't working."

"Wait, isn't Dobby that House Elf that appeared in your room before you left?" asked Zack. "The one Cloud caught?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "For some reason, he's got it out for me. He also said the Chamber had been opened before, fifty years ago. . . . And that a couple people died."

"People died?" said Zack, alarmed. "Did they ever find out who did it?"

"They must've caught him," said Harry. "They couldn't have let that go unpunished—but now it's happening again."

"Colin was only Petrified, though," mused Aerith. "Is it something you've learned about?"

"Hermione was researching it," said Sephiroth. "Now we're trying to find out who's doing the attacks."

"The professors will be able to take care it, though, won't they?" said Neville nervously. "I-I don't know much about this Chamber of Secrets thing, but I really think you guys should trust the professors."

Sephiroth agreed with Neville wholeheartedly—the last thing he wanted was a repeat of their first year—but he, Harry, and Angeal spent most of the day dodging questions on Genesis, Hermione, and Ron's whereabouts. By the time lunch rolled around and they were still nowhere to be seen, Sephiroth was entirely certain they had started the Polyjuice potion. Hermione had been very excited to brew a complicated potion and Ron and Genesis's suspicions were probably only spurned by Colin being attacked.

They didn't show their faces until later that day, finally leaving the bathroom for a bite to eat. Hermione worried over Sephiroth's legs, looking apologetic that she hadn't been there to greet him that morning, while Genesis ever-so-casually poked at Sephiroth's legs with a spoon.

"Everything seems functional," he said.

Angeal sighed.

They spread their homework over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, deciding there was no better time to do one last cram session before their work was due tomorrow. Aerith sat between Sephiroth and Neville, gently correcting their errors in grammar and spelling. If it was anyone else, Sephiroth would have been embarrassed, but she seemed to genuinely enjoy helping them. Neville was all but glowing under every bit of praise he got, biting his cheeks to stop himself smiling.

"So, I heard there's an advanced form of Transfiguration where you can turn into an animal," said Zack, reading over Genesis's shoulder very deliberately.

"It's called an animagus," said Angeal.

"That sounds awesome," said Zack, snatching Genesis's book from him and ignoring his protests. "I wonder what animal I'd turn into."

"Definitely a dog," said Angeal without hesitation.

Zack looked up in surprise, startling Angeal slightly.

"You have a lot of energy, is all," said Angeal. "It would fit."

"Yeah," said Zack, and there was a whole lot of unnamed emotions packed into that one word. "Yeah, that'd be pretty cool."

"Anyone want to guess what Cloud would be?" asked Aerith lightly.

"A chicken, obviously," said Zack.

That brought a round of laughter and snorts—Cloud rolled his eyes.

They said their goodbyes after dinner, Cloud, Zack, and Aerith leaving the entrance hall for the second time that year. Sephiroth was even sorrier to seem them go than he was before, waving and already thinking up excuses for them visit again.

It wasn't until the next morning that anyone heard the news. Lockhart was found passed out in the middle of the halls the night before, drooling on himself and babbling nonsense. He seemed to believe there was a dragon crouching on his office desk and had ran out, only to trip over several hundred miniature gnomes that tried to crawl up his legs. Sephiroth would have felt pity for Lockhart, clearly going through some intense hallucinations, but he remembered every bit of grief Lockhart gave him over the year.

"What're his chances of recovering?" asked Sephiroth, hoping it would take him a long, long time.

"He'll be back in order in a couple weeks," said Genesis grumpily. "There's no permanent solution, after all. And it's not like Aerith could kill him."

"I heard that Draco's father's making noises in the Ministry, though," said Hermione offhandedly. "Apparently he doesn't trust Lockhart around his son—along with the other students. He's hoping for a full inquiry."

"So Malfoy does have his uses," said Ron with a grin. "Never thought the git had it in him."

"You were the ones who judged him without getting to know him," said Sephiroth. It wasn't an _I told you so_ , but it might as well have been. He thought, after all the distrust and rudeness they had showed Draco over the past year, he deserved to rub it in just a little.

Even Lockhart being out of commission wasn't enough to distract the school from the imminent threat for long. There was no such thing as lone wolf students anymore, just about everyone sticking in groups of three or more. The first years all shuffled around as one, somewhat resembling a large, grounded school of fish. More than once, Sephiroth had seen frightened faces glanced around, wondering which of their fellow classmates had attacked Colin and Mrs. Norris.

He didn't blame them, feeling the same himself. Except he was even more worried about Harry and the others, since going out of their way to discover who was responsible only made them greater targets.

Genesis and Angeal went out of their way to try and cheer up Ginny, who was looking sicker and sicker by the day. Her bright red hair was stark against her ashen face, so often hidden behind her diary. Sephiroth sometimes wondered what she could be writing, keeping her occupied constantly. On top of that, the diary never seemed to fill, either. If he didn't know better, he would say she was still on the first page.

With the amount of fear flowing around the school, Fred and George's secret trade of magical artifacts and talismans was bustling more than ever. Neville had tried to buy several of them, but Sephiroth stopped him before he could waste his money.

"You're a pureblood," he reminded Neville. "They're not going to go after you."

"Everyone knows I'm almost a Squib, though," said Neville, trembling slightly. Learning about Colin did nothing for his confidence.

"Are you sure?" said Sephiroth. "Did you say that wand was your dad's?"

Neville nodded cautiously.

"What about it?" he asked.

"Well, when I talked to Ollivander—he was very adamant about wands, went through a least two dozen before finding mine—he was clear when he said the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around." Sephiroth glanced at Neville's wand, which had belonged not to himself, but his father. "That wand didn't choose you."

Neville's bottom lip wavered.

"I-I just want to prove to my Gran that I can be as s-strong as my dad," he said quietly.

"Neville," said Sephiroth patiently. "There are loads of powerful wizards and they don't have your dad's wand. I know you can be strong, but that wand just isn't _your_ wand."

He didn't know how much of what he said left a lasting impressing, but Neville had stopped looking quite so terrified in the halls and took to staring at his wand in contemplation. Sephiroth just hoped he finally wrote his grandmother about his need for a new wand. All of his problems with magic had to do with his wand, Sephiroth would bet on it.

Halfway through December, there was no more avoiding telling Aerith, Zack, and Cloud about his decision to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. They took it all very well, almost too well, and Sephiroth started to grow his own suspicions over what they were planning—because there was no way they weren't planning _something_.

The Polyjuice potion was going well, right up until they ran into biggest problem. They needed ingredients from Professor Snape's private store, and Sephiroth wasn't about to put on a show to distract him. He had endured one professor so they could get their way once, and he wasn't about to do it again. They had taken one look at him and something about his expression tipped them off to his unwillingness to help.

Next potion class, Sephiroth was beside himself with worry.

"We're actually doing this?" he mumbled to Harry. "In Snape's class? Does Genesis want us to die?"

Harry was looking equally stressed.

"I just hope we don't get expelled," he said. "I know Hermione said we'd be safe, but I don't trust Snape not to somehow frame us."

As every other potions class, Sephiroth was paired with Draco. He passed ingredients while Draco stirred and tried his best not to interact with Sephiroth any more than absolutely necessary. He usually failed, while Sephiroth was left unsure why Draco was so determined to ignore him at all.

"So, Lockhart's being investigated," said Draco, finally giving up on not talking. Snape glanced over once in their direction, but said nothing. "They're finding a lot of suspicious things in the places his books take place. Names, dates—everything is off. They're suspecting fraud."

Sephiroth had always expected Lockhart was a dirty cheat, but hearing it confirmed was something else.

"D'you think he'll be sacked?" asked Sephiroth.

"If my father has anything to say about it, yes," said Draco haughtily.

Sephiroth gave him an appraising look.

"You must have really given him a story," he said.

"I told all and nothing but the truth," Draco sniffed.

"Sure."

"I _did_!"

"Sure you did."

"Just give me the aconite, Crescent," said Draco irritably.

Sephiroth noticed Hermione give the signal—Harry prepared to throw one of Fred and George's fireworks in Goyle's potion while Snape was distracted looming over Neville—

Just before the firework landed in Goyle's potion, Sephiroth accidentally-on-purpose dropped the aconite. Draco hissed angrily and stooped to snatch it off the ground as Goyle's potion exploded—Sephiroth ducked under the table with Draco, grabbing the sleeve of his robes to keep him from jumping up too soon.

While chaos reigned overhead, all who had been splattered with Goyle's potion finding themselves bloating up rapidly, Sephiroth watched Hermione disappear into Snape's office, unnoticed.

"You _knew_ this was going to happen," said Draco. "Goyle's face is—and Crabbe—why did your friends do this?!"

Sephiroth felt a stab of guilt. He worried about his friends, and sometimes he forgot that Goyle and Crabbe were Draco's friends as well. They had gotten caught in the crossfire of the exploded potion so they could steal ingredients.

"I—"

"Never mind, this was probably your _friends'_ work, wasn't it?" snapped Draco. "Honestly, when are you going to learn to think on your own? You're too reliant on them!"

"I'm _not—"_ he noticed Hermione reappear, her robes heavy with ingredients. "I'm just fine!"

"Says the one who's going along with some kind of stupid plan that he doesn't really care about," Draco snarled. "Half the people in here need a deflating potion. Who suggested this? I'm going to hex them."

Sephiroth tried to calm Draco down, to no avail. It didn't help that he sort of agreed with Draco's sentiments. After everyone had been given a dose of the deflating potion and no longer looked hideously deformed, Snape prowled around the classroom, darkly promising whoever was responsible would be expelled.

The bell rang and there was a mass exodus for the door, everyone even more eager than normal to leave Snape's classroom. Before Sephiroth could join the others, Draco grabbed his arm and practically yanked him aside. He was so surprised by the sudden movement that he didn't even try pull away.

"I mean it, Crescent!" he snapped quietly, so none of the passing students could overhear them. "Last time you got this brainless, you ended up so traumatized you were questioning your life purpose! What kind of first year questions their life purpose?!"

Sephiroth would have pointed out that they were first years hardly a year ago, but decided against it. That would only aggravate Draco even more.

"You—" Draco hesitated, glancing around and Sephiroth knew where he was about to go and wished he wouldn't. "You killed someone to protect them. I don't know what you've decided, if you'd do it again, but let's face it, Crescent. You don't want to hurt anyone."

"And what makes you think you've got what I'm thinking pegged?" said Sephiroth irritably.

"Avoiding the question," said Draco, looking triumphant. "Seems I was right."

"I'm not avoiding . . ." Sephiroth blinked, and then scowled. "I didn't _mean_ to avoid it, just—"

"Sure you didn't," Draco interrupted. He was dangerously close to smiling.

"It's not _funny_ ," Sephiroth protested.

"Of course it's not," said Draco, his face clamping back down to annoyed, and Sephiroth regretted it. "I won't rat you out this time—that's another debt you owe me."

Sephiroth was very close to tearing out his hair. He watched Draco leave, more confused and frustrated than ever.

"How many debts do I owe him, anyway?" Sephiroth asked an empty hallway.

* * *

 **A/N: I've actually lost count of how much he owes Draco...**

 **Guest:** **"My idea got through!(Lilikin Sephy in pumpkin!)" Yep! It's just taking a while because chibi drawing isn't my strong suit :/ And I know the school feeling -.- They're vampires, I tell you. Vampires.**

 **GammaCavy: He had it coming! XD**

 **Guest: "You know I just had a thought did Dobby catnap Shinra? Is that why Sephiroth can't find him even with a rune spell?" Not quite. ;) And yeah, Hermione and the others are getting caught up in the moment. They've all experienced what it's like to be in a life and death situation and they can't quite let go of the feeling... That Hermione really wants to brew a complicated potion XD**

 **EdelweisSageZ: That is true and I have no pity for him.**

 **Kit: He certainly won't be missed... and he'll be regretting it for awhile.**

 **Guest:** **"** **lockhart is done. theres absoluley no recovery from that.** **but seriously, awesome story!" He sure is. And thanks! :D**

 **Thank you for all your favorites, follows, and reviews! (Seriously, as many reviews as the first chapter? You guys spoil me :D)**

 **Until next week!**


	16. Chapter 16

16

For the next two weeks, the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts was rotated by the other professors. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape were tasked with curing Lockhart of his affliction, but the progress was slow going. Sephiroth occasionally caught Snape flipping through a book halfheartedly, taking time to brew extra pepper-up potions for next year, prowling the halls more often than normal. He was almost certainly avoiding the task of healing Professor Lockhart.

Sephiroth, along with everyone else, wrote a thank you letter to Aerith. Her responses were innocently confused, as if she didn't know she had poisoned Lockhart into a gibbering, hallucinating mess.

"Nothing to say about that?" said Genesis, throwing Hermione a testing look.

Hermione sniffed in reply and instead of answering, she turned to Sephiroth.

"How do your legs feel? No more pain?"

Things only improved as the second week crawled on and news of Draco's father filtered through the castle.

"I heard his father's furious," said Hermione, sounding very pleased. "He's demanding a full inquiry as to Lockhart's competence as a teacher once he's awake."

Angeal gave a low whistle.

"Draco doesn't mess around, does he? All it took was one letter."

"D'you think we could ask him to sack Snape?" asked Ron hopefully.

"Snape loves the Slytherins, he's not going to do that," said Harry.

There was no real disappointment on their faces. Despite Snape breathing down their necks in two classes, he was infinitely better than Lockhart. For one, they didn't have to deal with playwrights and dramatics. At least, nothing more than Snape's natural flair—making the windows close wandlessly and the lights dim, snapping his robes around as he turned—but it was much easier to ignore.

They had also learned a good deal from Snape in the past two weeks, including the disarming charm, Jelly-Legs jinx, and the shield charm. No matter how sour and grumpy he was, it was undeniable that he was good at teaching defense against the dark arts. The only downside was that he seemed to be trying to fit all education they missed over the entire year into those two weeks. The pile of homework they were assigned as a result was stacked high and very unwelcome.

"That was refreshing," said Hermione, bright-eyed, as the bell rang and they left class. "I can't believe I'd almost forgotten what a good lesson felt like."

"That was brutal, you mean," said Ron. "I'm going to sleep for a week. Good thing the holidays are coming up."

They reached the entrance hall and found a group of students clustered around the notice board, whispering amongst themselves excitedly. Sephiroth was just about to point it out when Neville caught sight of him, waving at him to come closer.

"A Dueling Club," said Neville. "The first meeting is tonight. I thought I'd give it a shot, not that I'm very good, but it might help a little . . ."

"Dueling, huh?" said Genesis, curious. "Who's in charge of the thing?"

"I dunno," said Neville. "It doesn't say."

"It couldn't be Snape," said Harry. "He'd hate being involved in something like that."

"What if he got the chance to shoot spell at us, though?" said Ron doubtfully. "I think he'd like the chance to almost kill us."

"I think you're just annoyed he gave you extra homework," said Sephiroth flatly.

"I _barely_ cast wrong—"

They were still talking about the Dueling Club as they headed up to Gryffindor Tower, all willing and eager to attend the first meeting. Neither of them could quite settle on who would teach the club. Harry was dead set they would end up with Snape, while Hermione rooted for Professor McGonagall.

"Professor Flitwick would be the best for a Dueling Club," said Angeal. At their surprised looks, he went on. "You didn't know? He was a dueling champion for years. He's probably one of the best duelers in the school, honestly."

With that in mind, they all agreed on Professor Flitwick teaching them dueling. As they waited for the evening to roll around, Hermione pulled out her homework from the day's classes and suggested everyone else do the same. Sephiroth reluctantly set to writing a fourteen-inch long parchment on the different curses and counter-curses Snape drilled into their head.

"What's summoning a snake going to do in a duel?" said Sephiroth, frowning at his notes.

"Creep factor?" Genesis suggested.

"They're not that creepy," Sephiroth shot at him.

"But the long tongues—"

"They need their tongue to taste the air," said Sephiroth without looking up. "Because they're blind and all."

Silence fell between them. When it lasted for longer than a minute and Genesis gave no comeback, Sephiroth finally tore his eyes from the parchment. The blank stare, as if Genesis really hadn't expected Sephiroth to know anything like that, wasn't appreciated.

"I _do_ know how to read, you know," said Sephiroth waspishly.

They were forced to half-run to the Great Hall at eight o'clock, as Hermione had insisted Sephiroth finish his parchment. She claimed he would regret not completing it later, but Sephiroth was already plenty regretful he wasted so much time finishing homework that wasn't even due until the end of the week. ("If you finish early, it's as though the entire week is a holiday!"; "Are you forgetting about our classes?"). The others hadn't been so keen on finishing, either.

They arrived at the Great Hall and found, to their delight, Professor Flitwick teaching the club. All the tables had been pushed to the sides of the hall. The students who arrived before them were stood around idly, mumbling to each other in varying degrees of impatience and excitement. Lurking farther back in the shadows was Professor Snape, who really didn't seem as though he wanted to be there.

"Now, now—is everyone here?" said Professor Flitwick.

He gave them a cursory look, glancing at the doors to the hall. When no one else walked through, he started the club meeting in earnest.

"As I'm sure you could all tell by the name, this is to teach you the finer rules and techniques of dueling. . . ."

Flitwick introduced them to dueling etiquette first, his high and squeaky voice carrying through the hall. There wasn't much to explain and Sephiroth suspected Flitwick wanted to jump right into dueling part of the club meeting. The sentiment was mirrored by the other students, who all brightened when Professor Flitwick pulled out his wand.

"We'll give a short demonstration of a proper duel," said Flitwick as Professor Snape stalked into the circle of students, who quickly parted for him. "Now, keep in mind that in a real duel—that is, a duel of self-defense—there are no rules. This is a sportsman duel, though, so we'll be abiding by dueling etiquette—and so will all of you."

"Who d'you think will win?" asked Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had managed to migrate closer to them during the introduction. "I've got my money on Professor Flitwick. He's a dueling champion, after all."

Sephiroth loathed to agree with Justin, knowing he sided with the quarter of Hogwarts that sympathized with Lockhart. The only problem was the unavoidable logic in his statement—Flitwick's prowess was renown.

The duel was short and succinct—Flitwick and Snape bowed briefly, wands held in dueling positions, and then send a flurry of spells at each other. Flitwick was quick on his feet, taking advantage of the fact he was small and lower to the ground, while Snape defended himself from anything coming his way. It ended with Flitwick disarming Snape, but Sephiroth wasn't sure if Snape allowed it to cut the duel short or if he truly lost.

"So, I recognized maybe two of those spells," said Genesis. His arms were crossed and he was scowling, so Sephiroth knew he was discontented by his lacking knowledge. "They had better teach me the rest."

"One of them was the tap-dancing jinx," said Hermione promptly. "Snape blocked it, though."

"Good thing," Ron grumbled, "I never want to see Snape tap dance."

Genesis snorted and Sephiroth did his best not to imagine it. He failed.

"Now that you've seen a duel, we'll head on to practical work," said Professor Flitwick. "Everyone find a partner—you'll be dueling each other. Nice, clean duels, everyone—if I see any cheating you'll be sitting out the rest of the meeting!"

Harry and Sephiroth immediately partnered up. Angeal pulled Ron aside, and Genesis and Hermione ignored each other spectacularly. Sephiroth watched Genesis and Hermione in exasperation, unsure how their duel would go down and if Genesis planned on sticking to the rules.

They started when Professor Flitwick shot off a flurry of sparks. Sephiroth and Harry bowed—and Sephiroth was forced to dart to the side as Harry fired off a spell without warning. He was taking the duel seriously, Sephiroth noted a little sullenly, but he understood why. Harry was eager to make himself stronger in any way possible.

Sephiroth hadn't practiced the shield charm very much, so he was mostly limited to dodging Harry's attacks. And that really wasn't difficult.

Only one or two useful defensive spells had stuck in Sephiroth's head and once Harry managed to graze his sleeve with the Jelly-Legs Jinx, he didn't hesitate pulling a couple of his stops.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

A stream of red flew after Harry—and was deflected by the shield charm. For a whole second, Sephiroth was utterly stumped. He hadn't known Harry's reflexes were that sharp, or that he was proficient enough to use the shield charm. He probably should have figured, having shared classes with Harry, but it still had him almost tripping over his own shoes to avoid the next spell.

Let it never be said that Sephiroth wasn't competitive and he found himself trying harder to win. There was no doubt he would win in a contest pure strength and speed alone, but in a duel of magic Harry had the upper hand.

Professor Flitwick sent up a second round of sparks, signaling for them to stop dueling. Harry's arms immediately dropped to his sides, panting heavily but grinning in triumph. Sephiroth wasn't out of breath in the slightest, but he couldn't help a smile, either. The neat, even trade of spells in a duel was a unique experience.

"Very good! _Very_ good!" said Professor Flitwick, beaming at them. "You've all done splendidly for your first try! Macmillan, try loosening up a little—you're not trying to send Miss Fawcet to the hospital, are you? Longbottom, have some more confidence—a steady wand will cast true."

Hermione was seething when they found her, part of her hair slightly charred, and Genesis was apologizing profusely. It took Sephiroth longer than he was willing to admit to absorb the sight of Genesis _apologizing_ to anyone.

"I didn't think it would be that _large—_ "

"That's why you're supposed to _test_ spells before you use them practically!" she hissed. There was a moment of hesitation, before she added, "Don't singe my hair off next time."

"Block faster," he mumbled.

" _What?_ "

"Nothing," he said hastily.

None of them were given the chance to duel their first partner again, though. Flitwick started assigning them to different partners himself, so they wouldn't get used to one person's specific habits. It was good for keeping them on their toes in the battles, he said. Sephiroth had a feeling it was to keep the larger students from ganging up on the smaller ones, as well.

He had lost track of Professor Snape once the demonstrative duel was over and assumed that Snape had slunk out of the Great Hall while everyone was distracted. He was proven wrong when Professor Snape seemed to materialize from nowhere after their third duel and suggest Harry and Draco duel. Sephiroth resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why Professor Snape egged on their rivalry would forever remain a mystery to him.

"Yeah, teach him a lesson, mate," said Ron with a grin.

"What lesson?" said Angeal absently.

Ron's eager expression faded into bewilderment.

"Huh?"

"He hasn't really _done_ anything lately," said Angeal. "Or at all."

Ron paused a second, thinking it over. Then he shrugged.

"I guess it's on principle, then. Harry's Gryffindor and he's Slytherin—this is matter of house pride."

Sephiroth could almost hear Cloud's dry, unamused voice in his head: _Who decided it was a good idea to sort by personality types again?_

Harry and Draco's duel was the shortest so far—three spells in, Draco gave a wide flourish of his wand and shouted, " _Serpensortia!_ "

A black snake, longer than Sephiroth was tall, shot out of his wand onto the ground. It slithered lazily across the floor, as if it wasn't quite sure it wanted to attack Harry, before abruptly changing course toward the onlookers.

"A snake," said Sephiroth. "Really?"

The other students' reactions to the snake weren't nearly so nonchalant. Justin Finch-Fletchley in particular was tripping over himself to get away and Hannah Abbot let out a shriek when the snake lunged at them. Professor Snape started to stride forward and, out of worry for the snake's well-being—because _really_ , it was only a rat snake and the only thing in danger at the moment were any nearby rodents—Sephiroth darted across the hall.

"No— _come here_ ," he said impatiently when the snake decided Hannah Abbot wasn't interesting and changed directions again. At his tone, it turned its head toward him. "That's it."

Sephiroth remembered there were plenty of grass and rat snakes around Petunia's garden. They were especially prevalent in the summer, when the rats were at their worst. They were good to have around, otherwise Sephiroth would have been forced to chase all the rodents down. It would have been time consuming, tiring, and thoroughly unpleasant work.

He lifted the snake, allowing it to curl around his arms, and straightened. He blinked owlishly at the widened, alarmed stares aimed at him.

"It's just a rat snake," he explained awkwardly. Even the professors looked unnerved and that was never a good sign. "It's harmless."

"That's not what we're—I mean, you just—" said Justin, his voice faltering.

"Mr. Crescent, why don't you put the snake down?" said Professor Flitwick kindly.

Sephiroth almost did so, but stopped at the last moment and gave him a wary look.

"What are you going to do it?"

"Dispell it—"

 _Dispell_ sounded a lot like _kill it_ and Sephiroth unconsciously pulled the snake a little closer. When Professor Flitwick finally seemed to catch onto the fact Sephiroth wasn't willing to allow anything to happen to the snake, he let out a short sigh.

"Very well—make sure you take it outside." He checked his wristwatch, nodding when he saw the time. "Well, that about wraps up the dueling club's first meeting! The next meeting is at the same time next week, if you're all still interested."

Genesis wasted no time grabbed the back of Sephiroth's robes and practically hauled him out of the Great Hall, the others scurrying to keep up. He found the nearest unoccupied classroom and pulled Sephiroth inside, ignoring Sephiroth's protests and Harry's impatient questions. When they were inside the classroom, Sephiroth yanked away, throwing him a glare.

"What was that for?" he snapped.

The snake's tongue flicked out briefly—Sephiroth set it on the floor, as there was nowhere for it to disappear to in the classroom.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ron burst out as soon as he caught up. "You're a _Parselmouth?_ "

"Don't be daft, Ron," said Genesis, "he probably doesn't even know what that is."

Sephiroth didn't see how that mattered in the slightest. He didn't come from a magical family, so it was natural he wouldn't know some of these things. He clamped his mouth shut to keep from snapping back at Genesis.

"What is it, then?" said Harry, frowning.

"The gift of talking to snakes," said Hermione in explanation.

Sephiroth and Harry went speechless in unison, exchanging looks of confusion, as if to reaffirm what Hermione said. They had never talked about their home life much with the others, but Sephiroth was sure they had referenced to talking snakes at least once. Harry's accidental magic was setting a boa constrictor on Dudley and it wasn't something they were ashamed of in the least.

"Yeah, and . . .?" said Sephiroth. "It's not very _hard_. I mean, snakes are pretty smart."

"We met this boa that said it'd never seen Brazil before," said Harry.

"A boa told you it had never seen Brazil?" said Ron, pale-faced.

"Yeah," said Sephiroth. "And there was this old ringed neck snake that used to make awful puns about its ring—"

"The point is," said Harry, "loads of people here can probably do it, too."

"That's the thing," said Genesis. "They _can't_. Not very many people can speak parseltongue—in fact, I can't think of anyone _alive_ at the moment who can talk to snakes."

"This is really bad," said Ron, his voice tight, as if he was expecting someone to burst into the classroom at any moment.

Harry scowled and Sephiroth sympathized with the reaction. He didn't want to stand around and listen to their worried banter, as if Sephiroth and Harry were somehow suddenly diseased. The ability to trade bad puns with an old snake wasn't particularly dangerous. At least, not to their physical health. It used to give Harry headaches, even if it made Sephiroth laugh.

"What's bad?" snapped Harry. "What's wrong with everyone?"

"Wait—you're a parselmouth, too?!" Ron exclaimed.

"Would you all stop acting like there's something wrong with us?" said Sephiroth. They were taking something harmless completely out of proportion. "Why is it so important anyway?

"Salazar Slytherin," said Hermione in a subdued tone, "was infamous for being able to talk to snakes. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."

"What's Slytherin got to do with anything?" said Sephiroth irritably. They were dragging up ancient history again. "I'm sure there's others round the world that can speak to snakes, even if they're not well-known."

"You're missing the point," said Genesis. Sephiroth really wanted to know what point he was missing, other than their overreactions to parseltongue. "People are going to think either you or Harry is Slytherin's heir. They're going to think _you_ Petrified Mrs. Norris and Colin."

"Yeah," said Ron. "The whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something."

"But I'm not related to Salazar Slytherin," said Sephiroth, lowering his voice. "We _know_ that."

The others stopped talking at once. It was true, there was absolutely no way Sephiroth could be related to Salazar Slytherin, or anyone from the world they were in. Sephiroth knew very little other than he was reborn from another world, meaning it was impossible for him to be related to anyone of the magical world, living or dead.

"So, um . . ." said Ron, his voice trailing off uncertainly. "How are you a parselmouth?"

"That's like asking how any of us have magic when we're not originally from this world," said Angeal. "Of course he doesn't know."

"Thanks for answering for me," Sephiroth grumbled before he could stop himself. A lot had happened over the past day, over the past few months, really, and it was affecting him.

"Sorry," said Angeal sheepishly.

"What about Harry, though?" said Hermione. "Salazar Slytherin lived about a thousand years ago. For all we know, you could be related to him."

"Well, the school doesn't know Harry's a parselmouth," said Genesis. "Only Sephiroth went around hissing at snakes—"

"I wasn't _hissing—_ "

"That's what it sounded like," said Ron. "I don't know what you heard, but we all heard you speaking parseltongue."

"It sounded like normal talking to me," said Harry. "How do you speak another language and not even know it?"

They couldn't answer his question. It was a lead weight in the back of Sephiroth's head for the rest of the day, stretching into the next morning. Once the earliest rays of morning light bloomed, revealing a fresh blanket of snow, Sephiroth pulled himself out of bed to write a letter to Aerith. The snow didn't let up throughout the morning and Herbology was canceled. Professor Sprout could be seen coming to and from the greenhouses with sweaters and scarves for the Mandrakes.

"They're all in Hufflepuff colors," said Genesis, looking up from the book he'd clung onto for the past hour. Sephiroth hadn't seem him turn a single page. "Except that one. Green and silver."

"D'you think one of them bit her?" asked Ron.

"Probably."

They avoided the topic of Salazar Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets, very carefully navigating through conversations to keep from mentioning parseltongue or snakes in general. Tiptoeing around the subject only made it all the more obvious to Sephiroth, as though they were purposefully ignoring a particularly noticeable rash.

He curled up on the sofa in the common room, the talking around him fading into a far-off babble, and stared into the fire. A countless number of scenarios imagining how the other students would react around him played through his head, no matter how many times he tried to distract himself. Throughout the night and most of the morning, he had built up enough courage for Herbology and to confront anyone who thought he or Harry was Slytherin's heir. With the class canceled, it put a huge damper in his built up courage.

"Justin did know I was trying to keep the snake away from him, right?" said Sephiroth. He was talking before his mind had caught up. He had been replaying the previous night over for the umpteenth time and realized that even after he picked up the snake, Justin had looked terrified.

Genesis shrugged.

"No idea. Who cares?"

"I don't want him thinking I was attacking him," said Sephiroth. "Having most of the student body thinking I'm a monster isn't grounds for being expelled, is it?"

Genesis groaned, slamming his book shut and turned to throw an annoyed glare at Sephiroth.

"If you're so worried about Justin knowing you were helping, then go tell him yourself," he said. "Honestly, I thought you didn't get along with him, anyway."

Sephiroth didn't particularly agree with most of the words that came out of Justin's mouth, but at the very least he had been nice.

"Don't bother," said Hermione very stiffly, her back rigid. "You're better off leaving Justin and his friends to themselves."

They watched her, waiting for her to finally break down and regale whatever Justin and his friends did to offend her so much. Eventually she closed her book as well, her eyes frosty.

"They all think Sephiroth is the heir," she snapped. "They think because Colin used to annoy Harry, Sephiroth attacked him."

"Sephiroth's a cat person, though," said Genesis. "Evil or not, cat people don't attack cats."

"That's your proof?" said Ron. "Not the part where we've known him for almost two years, but him being a cat person?"

"Well, they were wrong, through and through," said Hermione, smugly satisfied. "They tried to use your relatives as an excuse—said you hated Muggles."

Harry snorted.

"It's impossible not to hate the Dursleys," he said. "I'd like to see them try and live with them."

"That's what I said," Hermione replied.

"And we don't even live with them anymore," said Harry. "Zack and Cloud are Muggles and they're brilliant."

Calling them Muggles was a stretch, but the point was still there. Sephiroth felt better knowing that if anyone hassled him about it, they had no leg to stand on. Eventually they grew bored of sitting around the common room and talking, so they decided to pay Hagrid a surprise visit. It had been a while since they last talked to him, and he was glad to see them again.

Hagrid had recently been in the castle, having just returned to his house and still damp from melted snow. His heavy moleskin jacket was hung up by the door and the fireplace was blazing. There were a couple bloodied rags on the table, where he usually had cups of tea ready for any visitors.

"Didn't expect yeh," said Hagrid, ushering them in.

"What happened?" asked Hermione, eyeing the rags. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no, nuthin' like that," said Hagrid, waving the matter away. "Summat's been killin' the roosters. It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter put a charm around the hen coop."

He set the kettle over the fire to heat water for tea, and then settled onto a chair.

"So, what brings you all here?" he asked. "Don't yeh have class?"

"It's canceled," said Harry.

When they were finished with tea, they had to say hurried goodbyes to make it to Transfiguration, and Hagrid gave them warnings not to fool around after curfew. He sounded amused enough, but there was an underlying concern in his eyes that made Sephiroth think there was something else weighing on his mind. They ended up making it to the castle ahead of time and meandered along the corridors, waiting for the other classes to let out.

"What's that?" said Harry, squinting. "Look—spiders."

He hastened to turn the corner, following the uniform stream of spiders that were scurrying away from the corridor. Sephiroth followed him, only glancing back when Ron gave a pathetic little whimper. Genesis rolled his eyes and pulled Ron along.

"Oh no," Harry whispered.

Sephiroth turned the corner and stopped abruptly, coming to the scene of something from his nightmares—in the center of the corridor, stiff and immobile, was Justin Finch-Fletchley, his eyes were widened and empty. Hovering above him was Nearly Headless Nick, blackened and sooty, as if he had been caught in a fire. He looked as though he'd passed out mid-air, floating on his back and his head hanging loosely.

"This isn't good," said Genesis, transfixed by Justin's Petrified form. "We can't—"

A door burst open and they jumped, Hermione muffling a shriek with her hand, and Peeves the Poltergeist bolted out of an abandoned classroom. He took one look at them and his eyes brightened.

"Why, it's Potter and his wee monster!"

He flounced by them and Sephiroth could practically see the ways he could make their lives infinitely harder flitting through his protruding eyes. He opened his mouth to say something that was almost certainly condescending, when he finally caught sight of Justin and Nearly Headless Nick.

"Peeves, don't—" Angeal growled.

"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK!" Peeves howled for all he was worth. "NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

He let out one last bellow and dove away, straight through a wall.

"Yes, run—" said Genesis, latching onto the back of Sephiroth's robes and propelling him along. "We don't want to get caught here—"

The doors of each classroom were already slamming open, the students pouring out with widened eyes, and they were shoved against the wall in an attempt to avoid the stampede. The students were in various states of disarray. Professor McGonagall's class all had striped yellow and black hair and one boy's hand was a claw. Shouts and screams filled the corridor as they noticed Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, panic levels rising even farther—until Professor McGonagall lifted her wand and let out a blast.

Sephiroth's ears were ringing when the clamor stopped. He tried to make himself as small as possible, hoping no one would notice him standing at the edge of the corridor. They already thought him untrustworthy for being a parselmouth, let alone if he was found at the scene of a crime.

"Caught in the act!" Ernie Macmillan yelled, pointing at Sephiroth, who was noticeable no matter what he did because, well—silver hair down to his knees. A pair hair scissors and dye were very tempting. "I knew it—I knew you were rotten—"

"That will do, Macmillan!" snapped Professor McGonagall, her hawk-like gaze flashing from Harry and Sephiroth to Ernie.

She ordered the students back to their classes, as Professor Sinatra and Professor Flitwick grabbed Justin and hauled him to the Hospital Wing, where he would rest with Colin. Nearly Headless Nick was fanned up the stairs by Ernie.

"We've been here the whole time," said Genesis as soon as they were alone with Professor McGonagall. "Just ask Hagrid—we visited him earlier, and Sephiroth's been with us the entire time. They're _wrong—_ "

"This is out of my hands," said Professor McGonagall, interrupting him. "If you'll follow me—Potter and Crescent, only," she added when they all moved at once.

"But we were all here," said Hermione, stubborn despite her pale face.

"That's quite enough," said Professor McGonagall, but her face softened. "Innocent until proven guilty, Granger. They'll only be talking to the Headmaster."

None of them looking very satisfied with her words, but they stayed back in the corridor as Sephiroth and Harry were escorted to Professor Dumbledore's office. The halls loomed ahead of them and Sephiroth felt as though he was being led to the gallows.

"Lemon drop," said Professor McGonagall to a hulking stone gargoyle. (Sephiroth saw some resemblance to Flint).

Nothing prepared Sephiroth for the moment when the gargoyle shifted, suddenly animated and alive, moving to the left to clear the entrance for them. Sephiroth gaped at it even as he walked onto the steep, spiraling staircase, wondering how many other statues in the castle could come to life. The stairs started moving upward, spinning round and round, until they stopped at an oak door.

Professor McGonagall ignored the brass griffin door knocker, giving the door a short knock. The door opened on its own without a sound. She directed them inside.

"Wait there," she said, leaving and closing the door behind her.

"So," said Sephiroth after a stretch of silence. "How doomed are we?"

Harry looked pasty and a little dizzy from the stairs.

"Very," he replied.

"D'you think Aerith and everyone will mind if I stay there year round?" said Sephiroth, trying to convince himself that his voice was steady. "After I get expelled, I mean."

"Who said you're getting expelled?" said Harry sternly. "We'll talk this over—it was a misunderstanding, nothing more."

He stopped talking abruptly as something caught his attention. Sephiroth followed his gaze—there was plenty to look at in Dumbledore's office, from the little silver gadgets letting out puffs of steam, to the hundreds of headmaster and headmistress portraits lined against the circular walls—and found the Sorting Hat. It was inside a bookshelf, behind a large desk. The desk was cluttered with anything from everyday objects like paperweights to more abnormal things, like a floating enchanted boat in a bottle.

Harry twitched, then moved toward the bookshelf.

"What is it?" asked Sephiroth.

Harry didn't answer, instead reaching up to pull the Sorting Hat off the shelf. He lowered it onto his head.

"Um, Harry . . . I don't think they allow resorting," said Sephiroth awkwardly. "Besides, what other houses would there be? Ernie's in Hufflepuff, that'd be awful—and then Ravenclaw, have you seen the number of books they read per day? And nothing against Draco but sharing a common room with Flint would be miserable—"

He clamped his mouth shut when it occurred to him he was rambling. All the portraits were sleeping, but it didn't stop the overwhelming feeling he was being watched. Harry was talking to the Sorting Hat in hushed tones, but Sephiroth could hear the gist of what they were talking about. He had guessed Harry was almost sorted into Slytherin, and he was correct. Harry didn't seem pleased with whatever the Sorting Hat told him.

He set the hat back on its shelf, looking even worse than when they arrived.

A flash of red caught Sephiroth's eyes and he couldn't help a small gasp.

"Harry, look!"

It was balanced on a golden perch, covered in wrinkles and half of its crimson feathers missing. The bird was watching them with dark eyes, only to break its stare with a harsh retching sound, ruffling what remained of its feathers. It looked absolutely miserable.

Harry was giving the bird a dread-filled stare.

"I doubt anything will happen," said Sephiroth. There was simply no way they were so unlucky something would happen to Dumbledore's bird while they were in his office. "It's—it's probably been that way for a while. What're the chances—"

The bird went up in flames.

Harry let out a startled shout, tripping over himself to move away, while Sephiroth frantically looked for water or something—he was about to tear off his outer robes in an attempt to smother the fire, but within the seconds the bird was reduced to a pile of ashes. A few smoldering embers remained in the place of a giant crimson bird.

Sephiroth hardly had time to think, _We're so expelled_ , before office door opened and Dumbledore walked inside.

"Professor," said Harry, wide-eyed, "y-your bird—I couldn't do anything—he just caught fire—"

The accusations and shouting Sephiroth had expected didn't come. Instead, Dumbledore's formerly grim expression melted into a smile.

"About time, too. He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."

For a moment, confusion spun around in Sephiroth's head, before all the dots connected and he gave a sound of understanding.

"You have a _phoenix_ , professor?" said Sephiroth, curiosity for rare and magical animals overriding his previous fear. "Aren't they rare?"

"Very much so," said Dumbledore, looking pleased. "Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him . . ."

The mound of ashes had started moving. A little head, somewhat resembling a dried prune, emerged from the ashes. Its beak parted slightly, a faint treble escaping it, and Sephiroth felt some of the tension leave his body.

"It's a shame you had to see Fawkes on a Burning Day," Dumbledore was saying as he navigated around his desk to sit down. "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascination creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."

"Where'd you find him?" asked Sephiroth, watching Fawkes in awe. Then he remembered the reason for their visit. He quickly turned his attention to Dumbledore. "I mean, um . . ."

Dumbledore opened his mouth—the office door slammed open and Hagrid charged inside. He was dressed warmly, clutching onto the neck of a dead rooster. It swung back and forth as he gesticulated frantically.

"It wasn' them, Professor Dumbledore!" he said, coming to a stop right in front of Dumbledore's desk. "I was talkin' ter them jus' this morning, before that kid was found, they never had time, sir—"

Feathers fluttered around Hagrid as he swung the rooster around wildly, and Sephiroth brushed several away before they could land on him. Dumbledore couldn't get a word edgewise as Hagrid continued his verbal onslaught.

"It can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to!"

"Hagrid, I—"

"—yeh've got the wrong boys, sir, I know Harry an' Sephiroth would never—"

"Hagrid!" Dumbledore finally interrupted, as Hagrid started growing red in the face. "I do not think Harry or Sephiroth attacked those people."

"Oh."

Hagrid's arms dropped to his sides, the rooster's carcass flopping.

"Right," said Hagrid, flustered. "I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."

He quickly shuffled out, closing the door behind him.

Relief didn't even come close to how Sephiroth felt, hearing Dumbledore say those words. He had to stop himself from slumping to rest on the floor, or laughing, or doing something equally embarrassing. He was already formulating a letter to Aerith about how he wasn't being expelled, when he remembered they didn't even know about the recent attack.

"You don't think it was us?" said Harry, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"No, I don't," Dumbledore replied. He looked so grave that Sephiroth went tense again, expecting to hear some other kind of bad news. "But I still want to talk to you."

Sephiroth and Harry stood side by side in front of Dumbledore's desk, all but jittery with nervous energy while Dumbledore paused for a second. He eyed them speculatively and Sephiroth, not the first time, wished he could tell what was going on in Dumbledore's head.

"I must ask you, both of you," he said finally, "whether there is anything you'd like to tell me. Anything at all."

Faced with the question, Sephiroth almost wondered if Cloud, Zack, or Aerith had told Dumbledore anything about himself, or their letters. He dashed the thought almost as soon as it flitted through his mind. Neither of them were the type to share information like that so freely, Cloud least of all. That meant Dumbledore knew nothing of the voice Sephiroth and Harry had heard, of their research into the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry finally spoke up, after a moment of thought.

"No. There isn't anything, Professor."

Dumbledore stared at them for a long second, and Sephiroth was afraid he was going to call them out on their bluff. That maybe he somehow knew about the Polyjuice potion brewing away in the girls' bathroom.

"Very well, I understand," he said. "You may go."

It took a concentrated effort from both of them not to immediately flee. Sephiroth and Harry uttered a quick thanks, for not believing them to be the culprits of the attack and for not knowing anything, before leaving. Once they were out of sight, they broke out into a full sprint, all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

Only two people seemed entirely unbothered by the rising levels of fear in following days. Fred and George strutted around Hogwarts, as if the entire thing was a joke, while the rest of the student body made a mad rush to plan their return trips home for Christmas. No one had any idea what would happen next, _who_ would be attacked next, and no one wanted to stick around to find out, either.

"How are we going to interrogate them if they all leave?" said Genesis irritably as he watched another Slytherin sign his name on to the list for students returning home.

"We could always just _ask,_ " Sephiroth muttered under his breath.

He sensed it a heartbeat before it came, whirling around as the tapestry to his side suddenly blew outward, and Fred and George burst into the corridor. Before he could so much as shout, " _Don't you dare_!" they had scooped him clean off the floor and darted down the corridor, laughing maniacally and yelling warnings at passing students.

"Make way! Make way for the Heir of Slytherin," George crowed loudly. "He might be a midget but there's a lot of evil packed in him!"

"The evillest packages come in small sizes!"

"Seriously evil wizard coming through!"

Sephiroth gave up on dignity and pride and starting thrashing, kicking at Fred's back. His face was blazing, but people had stopped staring at him as he went by. It was difficult to believe he was the dangerous and evil Heir of Slytherin when he was being manhandled against his will by the twins, and no one was immediately dying.

"Move along, neophytes! He's got important business planned in the Chamber of Secrets and you're holding him up!"

"Why me?" Sephiroth groaned. "Harry, help me— _w_ _hy are you laughing?_ "

* * *

 **A/N: Ayyy, chapter 16! So I was experimenting with some slightly different writing styles in this one a little, hopefully it wasn't too noticeable. And a heads up! Next week's update might be late(er that usual) because I'm on the road again and it really saps my willpower. (As I say this, my energy levels are spiking again because I'm certain the universe it out to make a liar of me XD).**

 **Also, I love hearing your guys' theories about how this story's gonna go! Of course, I'll neither confirm nor deny them. ;D**

 **Guest: "** **Zack punching Lockheart in the face was awesome!" That part was very cathartic for me. And he totally deserved it (just think of how horrified he'll be over the bruise on his face, though).**

 **Jaron: And now I have the Price of Freedom stuck in my head. I stumbled across a "Most Emotional Songs" video once and the Price of Freedom was on it. I legit teared up. ...Zack and Aerith probably won't let Cloud forget about the cross-dressing incident. Ever. I mean, I wouldn't let someone I knew live it down, either.**

 **Guest:** **"Any chance Shinra... Uh... The cat, not the company, is a animagus?" Again, I'll neither confirm nor deny! :D**


	17. Chapter 17

17

Christmas break found the castle nearly devoid of people. Fred, George, and Ginny were among those who stayed, the twins for reasons of the mischievous kind. Sephiroth didn't know why Ginny decided to stay behind, as she still had no friends as far as he knew. Other than Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, there were only two or three other Slytherins to remain at Hogwarts for the holiday.

"That really limits our choices," said Genesis, watching the Slytherin table over breakfast on Christmas Eve. "Looks like Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson might be our best bet. Someone's going to have to wear a girl's uniform, though."

"I'm a girl, you know," said Hermione waspishly. "I'm not just brewing the potion and standing back to let you all do the work. I'll be Parkinson."

"Of Crabbe and Goyle, which is the least thick?" asked Genesis. "I'd rather not be the more idiotic of the two."

"I guess I'll be the other one, then," said Harry. "Goyle. Or Crabbe. Whichever."

Ron didn't seem to have any complaints with the plan.

"I'd rather not consume anything with any Slytherins in it, thanks," he said.

"Now that _that's_ all sorted out," said Hermione, "we've only got to wait. The potion will be done soon."

"How soon?" said Genesis impatiently. "We've been waiting for ages."

"It's a complicated potion," she said. "You've seen that yourself. If you want to know so badly, figure it out yourself."

Genesis's ground his teeth audibly and Sephiroth was relieved when he turned to his book instead of furthering their conversation into a full-blown argument. If he hadn't seen them working together over their homework almost daily while school was in, he would never have guessed they were friends going off how frequently they bickered.

"Have you heard from your folks?" asked Angeal.

"They're all pretty busy, I think," said Harry. "I don't know with what, though. . . . I think they might've found a friend?"

"That's right," said Sephiroth.

Last week, they received a letter about someone living by the coast of the North Sea, which had piqued Genesis and Angeal's interest. However, there had been no real details other than the fact it was someone they had known from their previous life. All Sephiroth knew was that it prompted Aerith to ask him for a spell that censored any and all curse words and swears, so the mysterious person had a sailor mouth.

Their breakfast was interrupted by Fred and George, garlic hanging off their necks and handing out wooden stakes to everyone passing them, whether they wanted the stakes or not. They shoved a stake into Draco's hand as he attempted to leave the Great Hall, visibly annoyed. He was so furious, Sephiroth was surprised the twins didn't have the stake hurtled back at them. Ron thought Draco's demeanor was from the bursting urge to reveal the identity of the true Heir of Slytherin.

"If you think that, why can't we just ask him?" said Sephiroth for what felt like the ten thousandth time. The suggestion was starting to get old, even to himself.

"He won't break that easily," said Ron, completely missing Sephiroth's ire. "He'll probably only tell someone he trusts."

"And he doesn't trust me?" said Sephiroth. He normally wouldn't have clung to the topic, but the words rampaged along with every other doubt playing in his head.

"Um . . ." Ron's voice trailed off, looking decidedly awkward. "Well . . ."

"Please," Genesis scoffed, "Malfoy couldn't harm a fly. He's a coward at best."

He glanced at Sephiroth.

"Ah, no offense."

"Some taken," Sephiroth grumbled.

"So are we all done insulting Sephiroth's friends?" said Harry, looming up behind Genesis. If there was anything Sephiroth could count on, it was that Harry would stand by him.

Fred and George dropped down onto the Gryffindor table, unceremoniously placing themselves between Harry and Genesis, and Ron and Sephiroth.

"Oh dear, did I hear someone say—"

"—someone was insulting Sephiroth's friends?"

Fred held out a ring of onions strung together on a wire to Ron, while George did the same for Genesis.

"Better take these," said George.

"Ah, no offense, Sephiroth," said Fred. "We've still got spots in your Empire of Evil, right?"

"Right hand men," said Sephiroth, knowing there was no stopping them and they'd find it all the funnier if he played along. It was easier to ignore the other students' whispers and pointed stares, scurrying away when he was near, if he turned it into a huge joke.

"We've got in good," said George in a dramatic stage whisper. "If you apologize now, you might be accepted as our underlings."

Genesis lifted his plate full of breakfast.

"I'm going to throw this at your face," he said flatly.

"I'll take that as a no," said George.

"Your loss," said Fred. "Well, if you change your mind—"

"—You know where we are!"

A plume of dark purple and black smoke suddenly billowed out, obscuring their vision. Sephiroth coughed, trying to wave the cloud away as his eyes watered, and when it cleared the twins were nowhere in sight.

"Where'd they learn that?!" Genesis yelled.

No one had an answer, other than it was simply the twins up to their usual antics. Genesis wasn't appeased by that explanation and set off to discover how they'd escaped so quickly. His search stretched the entire day and turned obsessive. Eventually, Sephiroth left the common room for the girls' bathroom, where Harry and Hermione were watching the Polyjuice potion.

He never made it, spotting Draco standing by the entrance hall, still quietly furious.

Sephiroth almost turned around to find another way. He had seen Draco stomping around the castle like that for a couple days, snapping at everyone in sight, and could guess what caused it. He couldn't be very happy at Sephiroth being labeled the Heir of Slytherin. There were any number of reasons why, from Sephiroth being a Gryffindor to the likelihood of him not being pureblooded.

Turning around felt like fleeing, so Sephiroth strode through the entrance hall. He tried his best not to look at Draco and see his reaction—and failed. Draco was doing an odd kind of zigzag, taking three steps forward only to pause and rethink the action. He moved forward again, and then aborted his steps halfway through and almost tripped.

When Draco's face went red and looked as though he might start cursing the floor, Sephiroth stopped and turned fully toward him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, firmly telling himself that beating around the bush wasn't cowardice.

"Yes," snapped Draco. Then he hastily added, "I mean no. Nothing's wrong."

Sephiroth shifted from foot to foot, waiting for Draco to continue. The silence was nearly palpable. Sephiroth almost wished he had homework as an excuse to leave, but he had finished the work left over for the holidays within the first week of Christmas break.

"I've got to—"

"My father gave me—"

They both started talking in unison, stopping short and staring at each other. The awkwardness had grown to legendary levels.

Draco visibly drew himself up, clearing his face of expression in record time. Sephiroth wished he could stop looking mortally embarrassed in seconds, too.

"My father sent me this in the mail a while ago," said Draco, pulling a package from his bag and holding it out to Sephiroth.

Sephiroth looked at the package, covered in brown wrapping paper. It might as well have been a unique species of magical creature.

"That's . . . nice?" he said. The package was cleanly wrapped and there was even a bow, which seemed very unlike Lucius Malfoy. Of course, it was sent to his son, so he was probably willing to show a little more kindness.

"It's not a Christmas gift or anything like that," said Draco hastily. "Just something he sent me. Randomly. I didn't ask for it."

"Oh," said Sephiroth. "That was nice of him."

The entrance hall fell into silence again. Draco's arm started to shake under the strain of holding the package up.

" _Are you going to take it or what?_ " Draco exploded, shoving the package into Sephiroth's chest.

"It's for— _oh_ ," said Sephiroth, taking the gift quickly.

He wished Draco could have been a little more obvious, instead of rambling about his father and packages he didn't want. There was no way Sephiroth would have guessed the package was for himself, since Draco hadn't given him anything in the past. Unless it was obvious to everyone else, Sephiroth thought his confusion was understandable.

That didn't stop him from flushing lightly.

"About time," Draco mumbled, rubbing his arm. "The thing's heavy."

Sephiroth almost shifted the package to one hand to test the weight, but stopped himself. He was stronger than Draco and he might take than as an insult. Sephiroth could never tell with the other boy. The package felt like a book, or something shaped identical to a book. It must have been an engaging read for Draco to give it to him, considering he knew Sephiroth wasn't exactly one for reading all the time. He was thoroughly unlike Hermione, who was happiest surrounded by books.

"Are you going to open it or what?" said Draco impatiently.

"Oh," said Sephiroth for the third time, as if his entire vocabulary had abandoned him.

He tore apart the packaging, revealing a scaly leather-back book. In large, golden lettering was the words _Dragon Flyte._ Sephiroth couldn't contain a gasp when he opened the cover, revealing a moving image of an enormous Hungarian Horntail. It stomped in a circle, occasionally sending off bursts of flames aimed at the surface of the picture. Sephiroth briefly wondered whatever happened to one taking the picture, but his attention was snatched away by another image of a dragon, curled in sleep, its body heaving with every breath.

There were descriptions for the dragons by the images, far more thorough and accurate than any of the books he had read in the past. Some of the descriptions went on for pages, detailing the history, traits, habitats, and diets of the dragons—and even more. The entire book was hundreds of pages long and Sephiroth was already itching to dig into it.

" . . . do you think?"

Draco's voice yanked Sephiroth away from the book and he looked back up, blinking dazedly.

"What?" he said.

"Do you like it?" asked Draco, a hair away from tentative.

Sephiroth couldn't keep from beaming at him, holding the book close to himself. He had always been curious about dragons and if he was going to read any book, it would be about them. When he had expected accusations or an awkward speech about his friends, he had been given a gift. It was being given candy instead of a smack, a smile over a scowl.

"It's wonderful," Sephiroth gushed, opening the book again and flipping through the pages. "See, here? They've even got the rarest dragons in this and _look at all the descriptions_! They've got _everything—_ and how'd you get this? I didn't even know anything like this existed, I can't imagine how much it must've costed—"

He cut himself off, throwing Draco a worried look.

"You didn't spend too much on it, did you?"

"I come from an ancient, noble family," said Draco, dryly amused. "We've got loads to spare. And I didn't buy it! It was my _father._ "

The image of Lucius Malfoy's cold gray eyes flashed in his mind and Sephiroth couldn't picture him going out of his way to buy a book for a stranger. Let alone if that stranger was Sephiroth, who he thought was lesser and unworthy of his attention. Of course, the image clashed with the news of Lucius Malfoy going for Lockhart's proverbial jugular.

"Thank you," said Sephiroth quietly, brushing his hand against the cover of _Dragon Flyte_. "Truthfully, I'd . . . almost forgotten about Christmas."

Draco nodded, as if that all made perfect sense, and Sephiroth wanted to know just what he understood. The reason he forgot about Christmas most of the time was because, in the Dursley house, it was simply another day for him.

"I did say it was going to be a crazy year," said Draco, snorting faintly. "Speaking of which—your friends have got that look again. They're looking for something, aren't they?"

The book in Sephiroth's arms was suddenly much heavier. While he was talking to Draco, he had forgotten about the potion brewing away in the girls' bathroom. The plan to sneak into the Slytherin dorm and interrogate the students there had slipped his mind. His friends would be taking the places with two of Draco's trusted friends to lie and pry for information.

"What's with you?" asked Draco. "Is it about the heir? Because you don't have to worry, there's no way you're the Heir of Slytherin."

"There isn't?" said Sephiroth.

If anyone was likely to know about the Heir, it was someone from Slytherin. Draco sounded absolutely certain that Sephiroth being the Heir was laughable and he was aghast anyone would believe it. There was no telling his reasoning for why he didn't think Sephiroth was the Heir, though. It could be that Sephiroth probably wasn't a pureblood, or that he wasn't good enough at magic, or any number of derogatory examples of why he didn't live up to the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.

"Of course not," said Draco, waving the issue away. "A dignified heir of Salazar Slytherin would never mope around over every little thing, like you do."

An insult and a reassurance in the same sentence. Sephiroth was caught between snapping back at him and feeling overwhelmed with relief, and utterly failed to get a word out.

"An heir of Slytherin should be able to talk right, too," said Draco, standing very straight. He sounded as t hough he was listing off the qualifications of being the Heir.

"But they do have tea with their pet monster," said Sephiroth, cracking a grin at Fred and George's words.

Instead of laughing, Draco's face cleared of all humor and he glanced around again. When he was assured that no one was around—he could have asked, Sephiroth could hear if anyone was standing within earshot of them—he turned a deadly serious look to Sephiroth.

"Stop messing around with the Chamber of Secrets," he said. "I know you and your friends are researching it, and don't. It'll only get you into trouble and you won't get _out_ of the trouble this time."

"What are you—"

"Just listen, okay?" said Draco. "The Chamber was opened once before, fifty years ago—"

"I know," said Sephiroth, scrambling to continue when he saw Draco's impatient expression. "I, um—heard it from my brother. He heard it from a House Elf."

Draco was nonplussed.

"A House Elf . . .? But who could've— _oh_." Draco grit his teeth, looking very annoyed. " _Dobby_. When I get my hands on you—"

"You know Dobby?" said Sephiroth. That subject was less of a minefield than the other one. "Wait, he's _your_ House Elf? You have a slave?"

There was no love lost for Dobby in Sephiroth's heart, but once Hermione filled him in on House Elves, he knew one thing: he didn't like them. Or rather, he didn't like how they were forced to live. He knew the books tried to reason they enjoyed slave labor, that they were reliant on having a magical family and it had been that way for a long time. Even Ron seemed to think they were a necessary evil for some families. It felt too much like long-term brainwashing for Sephiroth and it rubbed him the wrong way.

"He's not a—Dobby's a House Elf, it's different," said Draco. "Never mind that—"

Sephiroth thought it was fairly important, but let the subject fall. He also decided not to tell Hermione or the others about Dobby being Draco's House Elf. The last thing they needed was another reason to distrust him.

"Just promise you won't go _looking_ for trouble?" said Draco urgently. "I mean it, people _died_ last time, and death is pretty permanent—"

It was very permanent in some cases and not so much in others, but Sephiroth wasn't going down that road.

"I won't," he said, interrupting Draco mid-tirade. "You don't have to worry."

"I'm not—" Draco broke off. "Fine, I'm holding you to that."

Neither of them said a word. Draco finally mumbled something about meeting his friends in the Slytherin common room, weaving another thread of guilt through Sephiroth's heart. They parted ways, leaving Sephiroth all the more certain their plan to infiltrate the Slytherin common room was doomed to failure. The only Slytherins left didn't know anything and implementing the plan during term was too risky.

"What've you got there?" asked Genesis the moment Sephiroth stepped through the portrait. Angeal aimed a glare at him, and he hastily added, "Oh and welcome back."

Sephiroth rolled his eyes at Genesis's attempt at being civil, but didn't comment. He had tried and that was what mattered the most. Hermione was beside herself when she saw the cover of the book, looking tempted to jump Sephiroth and snatch the book.

"It's not scheduled for release for another _six months_ ," said Hermione, wide-eyed and her gazed fixed on the book. "I can't imagine—Draco got this, right? I can't imagine how much he must've spent— _sixth months_!"

They ended up piled up on one sofa, all trying to look over Sephiroth's shoulders at once. Genesis and Angeal were leaning over the back and Harry was squashed against Sephiroth's side from Ron's attempts at getting a look at the Chinese Fireball. At some point, Fred and George migrated over, bringing snacks, and made room for themselves on the sofa.

"Move your head, Harry, we're trying to get a look—"

" _Oh_ , look at that fireball, think we can do that, George?"

"Mum'll have your hides," said Angeal warningly.

"What Mum doesn't know won't hurt her," they replied.

They went to bed shortly after, their minds bogged down with an assortment of sugary pastries. When Sephiroth woke on Christmas morning, he was nearly falling off the edge of his bed and the sheets were tangled around his legs, as if he got in a deadly fight with his covers. Voices rang through the dormitory, there was a thud of someone jumping out of bed, and a very familiar laugh.

Sephiroth yanked his drapes aside to see Zack standing in the middle of the dorm, laughing at something Genesis had done.

He could only gape in surprise, struggling to comprehend that Zack was in Hogwarts, _inside his dorm_ , and Genesis looked seconds away from breaking out his more impressive curse words. There was a red and white hat perched on the top of Zack's head, reindeer antlers poking out.

"You said you wanted to stay for Christmas," said Zack, "and we all thought: Hey, nothing's keeping us from crashing your party!"

The door to the dormitory burst open and Hermione flew inside, wide-eyed.

"Harry—Sephiroth, did you know your folks are here—" her voice choked off when she noticed Zack. "Oh, good morning, Mr. Fair—Zack!"

"And a Happy Christmas to you," said Zack cheerily.

"You can't be in there!" Ron yelped, pulling his covers closer to himself.

"Happy Christmas to you, too," she said with deadly sarcasm.

"Get your presents up, all of you," said Zack, tossing Sephiroth his present. "You can open them down in the common room with everyone else! I even brought up food from the kitchens—Fred and George helped."

Sephiroth scrambled out of bed and down the stairs, only to double back when Zack laughingly reminded him to take his presents. There was an impressive pile of gifts on the foot of his bed from everyone. He stacked them all in his arms, turned to leave, and then swiveled around again to snatch up _Dragon Flyte._ The gifts teetered dangerously in his arms from the book's extra weight, but he was sure Zack would love to see the moving pictures.

Downstairs, the others had already congregated around the fireplace. Genesis was bemoaning a package from Mrs. Weasley that was likely another Weasley sweater and sitting next to him were the twins, already clad in their own Weasley sweaters.

"You've got them on backwards," Aerith pointed out sweetly, smiling at their bemused expressions.

There were several trays of food set across the tables, which were all pushed together to form a larger one. Sephiroth placed his gifts on the edge of the table and started wolfing down his breakfast, joined shortly after by Ron. As soon as they were finished, they sat around the fireplace with their gifts, Zack urging them to open his present first, while Aerith told them to pick whichever they'd like. Faced with Zack's eager expression, Sephiroth went for the happy medium and grabbed Cloud's present.

He unwrapped a wand holster, glossy and set with several small beads for decoration. It fit a little loosely on his forearm, but he was assured by Cloud that he'd grow into it. Next was Zack's, a bauble that fit in the palm of Sephiroth's hand. It was clear, a miniature dragon flying inside, its scales shiny and bright like gemstones.

"It's a good luck charm," said Zack. "Hang onto it!"

Aerith's present was a black ribbon, longer than all the previous ones Hermione had transfigured for him, and gleaming in the firelight. She told him to turn and he did so, waiting for the unwelcome tugs of his hair being pulled up, but knowing there was no point arguing. He was surprised when, instead of gathering his hair up, she tied it off lower.

"You don't seem to like it up," she said, "and you only need it contained, really. It shouldn't blow around too much like this."

His hair resembled a dolphin's tail when she was done and it didn't bother him nearly as much as the high ponytail. Hermione nodded her approval when she saw and even Genesis refrained from making a teasing remark, although that might have been influenced by Cloud, Zack, and Aerith's presence.

They finished opening their presents, Sephiroth pulling his brand new Weasley sweater over his head, while Fred and George did a repeat of last year and wrestled Genesis into his sweater. He set aside Mrs. Weasley's box of chocolate brownies for later, already munching on a chocolate frog. Harry was reading _Flying with the Cannons_ , a Quidditch book, with Ron and Angeal.

Before long, they migrated down into the castle grounds, bundled up in jackets, scarves, and gloves, a silvery world of snow opened up to them. All it took was Zack shoving a handful of snow down Genesis's jacket to start an all-out war—Genesis yelled in alarm and soon balls of snow were flying back and forth, sides were picked and two teams were formed. Fred and George enchanted snowballs that chased them down, while Aerith erected a snowy barrier for Hermione, Harry, Genesis, and herself. Zack and Angeal ran around, causing more chaos than Sephiroth believed Angeal was capable of, chasing Ron and Hermione behind Cloud. The action came to a standstill, before Cloud revealed himself to be no better than Zack, hurling several balls of snow and restarting the snowball fight with renewed force.

They clambered back up the hill to the castle a couple hours later, hurrying to their dormitories to change when the snow melted and they grew chilled. Sephiroth had off and on talked about the Christmas feast all day, pausing between snow attacks to ramble on about the food and smells and how much he couldn't wait for the feast. He wasn't let down, a long table set up with shining golden cutlery and platters full of food. It felt like stepping into the world of Christmas, icy Christmas trees lining the walls and crystalline baubles filled with cheery flames floating above the tables.

"You weren't exaggerating," said Zack, impressed by the Great Hall.

"Is that mistletoe?" said Cloud, looking at the doorway.

"Yep," said George. "Don't tell anyone, but we tweaked them a bit."

"You did?" said Sephiroth. He could only imagine what they'd done, from making the mistletoe attack people to releasing a smell that would make them act strange. There was no way to be sure, but it was the twins and he had reason to be alarmed.

"You'll get stuck under them," said Fred. "But you're not supposed to kiss—that's what most people would think."

"What d'you have to do?" asked Sephiroth, curious despite himself.

"That's a secret," sand the twins in unison.

"We have faith, though—"

"—That you'll figure it out!"

Sephiroth wanted to argue, but they had no plans of telling him a thing and it would be a lost cause. He would have to make sure to avoid all the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling and the doorways, just to be safe. Going off the vaguely hunted look Cloud had adopted, he was thinking the same.

They finished eating, Sephiroth feeling fuller than he had all year. He passed Madam Pomfrey on the way out and she gave him a proud smile, before joining Hagrid in another carol. Dumbledore sang along cheerfully, their cheeks all flushed from the eggnog they were drinking by the goblet.

"They're going to be regretting that," said Zack.

Aerith winced.

"I'll leave them something," she said.

"Are you leaving now?" said Sephiroth, trying in vain to keep the disappointment out his tone. Their visit had been welcomed and refreshing, distracting him from the Polyjuice potion, and he wished more than ever he had gone back to their house for Christmas break.

"Yeah, it's about that time," said Zack regretfully, mussing Sephiroth's hair up. "Why don't we see you off to bed? It's got to be around your usual bedtime, right?"

"How _do_ you plan on getting back?" asked Hermione.

"We use the Floo," said Zack. "We'll Floo to the Leaky Cauldron from Hogsmeade and drive home, usually. Dumbledore agreed to let us use his Floo tonight, though."

Sephiroth wasn't ready for their goodbyes outside the Great Hall and he certainly wasn't ready inside the Gryffindor common room, either. Aerith and Zack crushed him with hugs and Cloud, who had never been one for physical displays, patted his head with a big hand. They left and there was an aching tug in his chest, an urge to ask them to stay just a little longer. He didn't know why it affected him so much—he had watched them leave before and hadn't felt so sad—but there was a painful hollow in his heart and a lump in his throat.

He really hated goodbyes.

"What was that?" asked Genesis, lethargic from all the food they just consumed.

"Nothing," he mumbled. He hadn't meant to say anything out loud.

It had been a long, exhausting day and Hermione reasoned they would only make mistakes in their conditions, so they all agreed unanimously the plan could wait until tomorrow morning. They clambered up to their dorms, yawning and rubbing their eyes, and Genesis didn't even bother changing. He tossed himself in bed and instantly passed out, soon followed by Angeal and Ron. Sephiroth and Harry stayed up awhile longer, reminiscing over the day.

Their lives had changed so much from the two nobodies living in a cupboard they used to be, surviving off table-scraps and pity. Now they had a home, people who cared and loved them, a magical school that was equal parts dangerous and fun. It was beyond anything Sephiroth could have thought of, even in his wildest dreams.

"Seph," Harry whispered through the darkness, sounding tentative. "I'm . . . sorry."

Sephiroth didn't remember closing his eyes, but he snapped awake upon hearing Harry's apology.

"What for?" he asked, going over the past couple days again in case Harry had done something and he didn't realize. He found nothing of consequence, other than Harry stealing his toast one breakfast, but that was hardly worth an apology.

"You really wanted to go back for Christmas," said Harry. "And I—well, I feel like I strong-armed you into staying. I just . . . got caught up in the plan, you know? And—"

"It's alright," said Sephiroth, unable to help a smile. Harry was uncertain over something so simple. "You're my brother—as long as we're together, I'm fine."

Harry gave a tired chuckle.

"That's good to hear," he said. "Good night, then."

"Good night," Sephiroth returned.

"Are you two finally done?" came Genesis's grouchy voice, apparently not as asleep as they thought.

Sephiroth would have thrown a pillow at him, but he would have to get up and retrieve it, so he settled for rolling his eyes instead. He pulled his drapes shut and curled on his side, drifting off without another word.

The next morning was vastly different from Christmas, without Zack and the others to liven the castle. Fred and George had disappeared somewhere soon after breakfast, so Sephiroth trailed after the others as they spoke in hushed voices, both nervous and eager to try the Polyjuice potion. It had been months in the making, so they were relieved it was finally over. Sephiroth wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, but what worried him most was Harry and Genesis being set loose on the Slytherin dorm. Sure, Hermione was there, but he wasn't confident she'd be enough to keep them from doing anything reckless. They were taking the place of two of Draco's closest friends and if they went out of their way to be intolerable, it could very well ruin his friendship with Crabbe and Goyle.

"What first?" asked Genesis once they were inside the bathroom. They were standing outside the bathroom stall the potion was simmering in, since they wouldn't all fit inside. "We still need—"

"Bits of who we're changing into," Hermione finished. "I've got it all figured out. You'll have to get something of Crabbe and Goyle for this to work, though. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're in the common room."

"Why Crabbe and Goyle again?" said Harry, blank-faced. "I know Draco's the one who'd know anything—"

"Actually he doesn't know any more than we do," said Sephiroth abruptly. He had forgotten to tell the others about what Draco told him, caught up with Christmas and celebrating with Zack, Cloud, and Aerith. "I talked to him before Christmas—when he gave me the book. He doesn't know anything."

"So he says," said Ron. "D'you think he'd actually tell you?"

"It's not like I pestered him about it," said Sephiroth. "He brought it up himself. So I doubt you'll learn anything from him. And who else are you going to ask? Parkinson?"

Genesis snorted, but Ron looked considerate.

"You never know," he said. "She could be hiding something. Her family's almost as old as Malfoy's."

"I thought you were going as Parkinson," said Angeal, turning to Hermione in confusion.

"I was," said Hermione, "but getting anything from her would have been nearly impossible. She's not as thick as Crabbe and Goyle."

"So who're you . . .?" said Angeal, his voice trailing off.

"Millicent Bulstrode," Hermione replied, holding up a small vial filled with a couple long hairs. "I got these off her robes during Dueling Club."

Something about the hairs seemed wrong to Sephiroth, but he shrugged it off as annoyance over them ignoring his repeated attempts at dissuading them from the plan. She pocketed the vial and went on to explain the rest of the plan, producing two chocolate cakes.

"I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught," she said. "All you have to do it make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet."

"You want to _poison_ them?" said Sephiroth, aghast. "We're not even going to learn anything from this—it's completely a waste of time and _poisoning_ them is—it's—"

"It's only a sleeping draught," she said. "They'll only be knocked out a couple hours while we ask around."

He paid enough attention in Snape's class to know all about potions and poisoning, and even if they were only putting Crabbe and Goyle to sleep for a few hours it was still poisoning. A deadly, foreign substance running through their body that could harm them, an underhanded move that struck all the wrong nerves. Sephiroth could feel phantom pain like an icy bruise spreading throughout his body.

Ron was starting to look aggravated.

"Look, if you—"

"No, he's right," said Genesis, shocking them all. "What? Poisoning people doesn't sit well with me, either. I'd rather avoid it, honestly. Knocking them out might leave them with headaches, but it's better than poison."

"You want to punch them unconscious?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows.

"It sounds worse, when you put it like that," said Angeal, "but poison . . . It's _wrong_. Let's not use anything that attacks from the inside?"

Physically knocking Crabbe and Goyle unconscious wasn't much of an improvement, but it felt as though Sephiroth had dodged a bullet. Or even a large building. He hadn't realized how rigid he was until he relaxed, the tension easing from his shoulders.

"Angeal and I will take care of this part," said Genesis, already taking several steps backward to the door. "You guys don't start without us!"

"We can't start without you," Ron mumbled. "We need those hairs."

"It's an expression," said Genesis.

"Maybe in your head," said Ron.

Genesis pulled a face, which Ron was quick to return, and Angeal pulled Genesis out of the bathroom by the back of his robes.

"You two," sighed Hermione, shaking her head.

"What?" said Ron. "He's my brother. I have to give him a hard time, it's my job."

Sephiroth didn't feel the same urge to make Harry's life difficult, but he had long since figured they didn't interact like typical siblings. The lighthearted topic worked to take his mind off the Sleeping Draught-filled cakes, which Hermione stowed back in her robes. He didn't think he'd be comfortable accepting food from her for a while—not until the entire Polyjuice plan was over and his nerves settled.

Hardly any time had passed before Genesis and Angeal were talking back into the bathroom, holding handfuls of hair, and looking incredibly satisfied. Sephiroth hoped Genesis didn't leave any permanent burn marks anywhere.

"Bring them here," said Hermione, kneeling by the potion on the floor. Her hands were shaking as she stirred the potion one last time, anxious despite all her previous bravado. "I'm sure I've done everything right. It looks like the book says it should . . . once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."

"Is the potion ready for the hairs?" asked Genesis, hovering over her.

"Yes," she replied. "I'll separate it into three glasses and we'll add the hairs."

The potion was like sludge, falling more than pouring into the glasses Hermione brought. She handed Harry and Genesis each a glass and, pausing to take a deep breath, upended the bottle of Millicent Bulstrode's hair into the potion.

A sharp, familiar scent hit Sephiroth's nose and he frowned, scrutinizing the potion as it foamed up, nearly overfilling the glass. It settled down, a nasty shade of yellow, and reminded Sephiroth of Shinra's litter box.

"It smells like a cat," said Sephiroth. "Is it supposed to smell like a cat?"

"Essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said Ron with a grimace. "She _is_ a cat person. Bet it tastes disgusting."

"I'm a cat person," snapped Sephiroth. "I don't smell like cats."

"It's probably just the potion," said Hermione shakily.

"Are you sure those were human hairs you put in there?" asked Sephiroth. "It doesn't smell like Genesis and Harry's—those do smell like Crabbe and Goyle a bit."

Genesis and Harry both look repulsed, staring at their potions as if they'd come alive to eat them.

"It's fine," said Hermione, "I did everything right—"

"Give it here, something's wrong—" Sephiroth insisted, reaching for the glass.

"No—"

"So help me, I'll drink it myself to prove it—"

Hermione tried to keep the potion out of reach, even going to gulp it down before he could take it, but he was faster and snatched it away. It definitely smelled like a feline, sputtering and hissing at him like one, too. Hermione was furious, trying to make him give it back, but he danced neatly out of reach and kept the potion away from her grasping hands.

"I've still got extra hairs," said Hermione crossly when he went to dump the glass out in the sink. "I'll just pour myself another cup."

He wasn't entirely sure what spurned him to do it, but between them refusing to hear him out and Hermione not trusting his nose (he thought they should have known by now, his sense of smell was almost infallible), he was at his wit's end trying to convince them. Sephiroth tipped the potion back and gulped it down.

Or he tried to.

Unfortunately, the potion tasted even worse than how it smelled and he almost immediately retched it up. Harry had darted to his side in alarm, pulling the glass away and talking very fast and angrily, pulling his hair out of his face.

Within seconds there was a crawling sensation under his skin, his muscles spasmed and his stomach felt like it was on fire. His throat was rough and scratchy, causing him to cough hoarsely, gagging when he felt something caught in his esophagus. He squeezed his eyes shut when they started tearing up, feeling as though someone rubbed onions in them. Over the rush of blood flowing in his ears, he could vaguely hear Harry frantically saying something about the Hospital Wing.

Harry's voice choked off seconds later, dropping Sephiroth's hair. There were murmurs of panic from the others and Sephiroth knew he wasn't going to like what he saw when he opened his eyes. He already regretted drinking the potion—really how _stupid_ could he be?

"Seph," said Harry, sounding very scared. "It's over. You can—you can open your eyes."

"It's not nearly as bad as I thought it'd be," said Genesis.

"Not as bad?" Hermione shrieked. " _Not as bad?!_ "

Sephiroth steeled himself and opened his eyes, staring into the mirror. He started breathing again when he saw, nearly lightheaded—he didn't know when he'd stopped breathing, but there were spots in his vision—and his hands flew to the top of his head. Fuzzy and dark, larger protruding from his silver hair like beacons, were a pair of cat ears. There were a strips of fur lining his cheekbones and a thin sheen of dark fur on his arms, his nails sharpened into claws. His eyes were a reflective golden color, the slits wider than normal.

"I'm a cat," he croaked.

The others burst into action, Polyjuice potion forgotten—Hermione was on the verge of tears and apologizing over and over—pulling him away from the mirror.

"Hospital Wing—"

"Madam Pomfrey's good with this kind of stuff—"

"Luckily no one's here to see—"

" _This is all my fault—_ "

Something twitched against Sephiroth's back and when he turned, he saw a long, sleek black tail curled at his feet. Suddenly someone was telling him to breathe and Harry was all but panicking. Angeal pulled him away, which made Sephiroth as if they'd yanked him away from a life preserver in the middle of the ocean.

"I'm a cat," he repeated. He might have said it a couple more times while they escorted him to the Hospital Wing, but he couldn't remember.

"Good heavens— _what_ happened?" said Madam Pomfrey when she saw Sephiroth, parting him from the others and directing him to a cot. "Never mind what. You five—out! Actually, Potter, you stay! The rest of you leave!"

"I'm a cat," said Sephiroth.

"Not for long," Madam Pomfrey assured him, smoothing his hair out of his face gently. "Now sit here and wait for me? Potter, keep an eye on him."

Sephiroth made it easy, clinging to Harry's arm. He didn't realize how tight his grip was until Harry let out a hiss. His sharpened nails were pricking through Harry's robes, drawing blood. Sephiroth recoiled, the blood stark in a world that had turned black and white, but Harry quickly drew him back.

Madam Pomfrey returned with a glass in hand and ordered him to drink up, but Sephiroth eyed it warily. Drinking another potion sounding about as inviting as spending the night in the dead of winter in the Forbidden Forest without his wand or a jacket.

"Don't give me that," she said. "Drink it. It'll calm you down, then we can start getting rid of the fur on your face."

Eventually they coaxed him into drinking it and once he no longer felt like the walls were closing in on him, he felt a little foolish for his reaction. Madam Pomfrey told him it was perfectly normal to feel horrified when one grew cat ears and a tail, so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. Still, the reversal process was going to take a long time and Sephiroth would likely be in the hospital through the rest of Christmas break.

After Sephiroth's first dose of a potion meant to reverse things like oddball transformations, the others were let back in the hospital. They crowded around Sephiroth's cot, all in varying states of dismay.

"We won't tell your folks," said Ron, trying not to look at Sephiroth's tail.

"Thanks," Sephiroth mumbled. He couldn't imagine Zack, Cloud, and Aerith's expression if they found out he had grown feline appendages.

"I'm sorry," Hermione sniffled, her eyes red and face pale. "This whole thing was _my_ idea, _my_ work, and I messed it up and you ended up like this—and, and it's just as bad as what happened during the Quidditch match! I'm just as bad as Lockhart, messing with things I'm not an expert in, and you're hurt now because of it. You're one of my only friends and—and I—"

She looked about ready to burst into tears again.

"It's not—Hermione, it's alright—" Sephiroth started, but she cut him off.

"No it's _not alright!_ " she said, wiping her eyes. "You've been against this plan since the start and we've just gone along rushed headfirst into it—and look where it got you! And I'm the one who started it all!"

Sephiroth couldn't get a word in as Hermione unraveled in front of them.

"And if you hadn't drunk the potion, I'd be there instead. You took my place," she said, her voice breaking halfway through, "and I'm— _I'm so sorry!_ "

"You don't have to apologize," he said, hoping desperately she wouldn't actually start crying. He didn't know how to deal with tears. "If it means that much, though, you're forgiven. But really—I'd do it all over again."

"You—I can't _believe_ you—"

Hermione looked equal parts frustrated and happy, rushing forward to crush him in a hug. Sephiroth patted her back, hoping she no longer felt so guilty. It wasn't as if he wasn't to blame in the entire thing—if he'd really tried, he probably could have convinced them otherwise. He had always been afraid to step up, to risk watching their retreating backs as they left him. He knew now, he shouldn't have doubted their friendship with him.

"Hey," said Genesis, drawing Sephiroth's attention. He was smirking. "You're a cat."

Sephiroth threw a pillow at him.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys. Sephiroth's a cat. (LOL, not sorry). But in all seriousness, I've been looking forward to this scene since I started writing this. And possibly halfway through Lotus. Poor Sephiroth, he ends up in all the bad situations XD**

 ** _And I finished on time!_ The drive wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought it was going to be, so I had enough extra time to type this up! Plus I was hyped asf for this scene... Although I had a hard time and couldn't figure out why, until I realized it was probably because I was listening to Kingdom Hearts music. And felt like I was being stabbed in the heart repeatedly with a keyblade. Riku's theme is pretty good chill music, though.**

 **Guest: "Awesome chapter! I like that you kept the dueling club." Thanks! With Lockhart out of commission, Flitwick was free to get his hands on the Dueling Club. He just couldn't resist! I'm glad everyone's still in character, I've been tweaking them slightly but it's good to hear it's not too much! (They do need to stop rushing into dangerous situations, don't they?) :D**

 **EdelweisSagaZ: Yep, you want to watch out for those quiet ones. You never know what's going on in their head... I think I can safely say Tifa will be involved without giving away spoilers. And I'm an all-time fan of Vincent, to the point of obsession if my fanart file has anything to say about it. (That's a yes. One simply doesn't leave out Vincent).**

 **Jaron: Don't worry, school sucks the life out of the best of us! Dumbledore can use Legilimency, but he probably wouldn't use it on people freely... Especially on Zack, Cloud, and Aerith. I'm pretty sure he'd regret it if he tried :/ I'm happy this can be some reprieve during school though!**

 **Guest: "** **Really love your fics! :D Just finishing reading everything. Tiny Sephiroth is amazing, and I have a feeling that the plot is really gonna get destroyed."** **Aw, thanks! Tiny Sephiroth is so adorable, I just want to hug him while at the same time doing my job as authoress and making his life as hard as possible! Won't say anything about the plot or Azra Spriggan ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

18

There was nothing more tedious than an extended stay in the hospital. Sephiroth would wake up and take a dose of the potion meant to reverse his cat-like attributes. Whenever Madam Pomfrey sent his friends away for the night, he'd fill his mind with any kind of clamor to drown out their blaring absence. It had only been two days and he was nearly shaking with repressed energy.

He was brought all his Christmas presents, including the dragon book from Draco and the strange wand holsters, which Genesis stated felt as though they were woven with magic. They were distraction enough, but the gifts could only last so long. Sensing Sephiroth's mounting discomfort, Harry had tried to convince Madam Pomfrey to allow him to sleep in the hospital, too, but she refused him.

On his third night alone in the hospital, he was snapped out of a drowsy stupor by an unexpected shuffle. Sephiroth had become accustomed to all the usual sounds in the hospital, so the slightest noise out of place could put him on edge.

Someone walked up to his cot—Sephiroth reached for a bottle to throw, not realizing his tail had curled around his wrist, and hissed in pain when he yanked it—and shoved aside the curtains Madam Pomfrey set up to spare Sephiroth's dignity.

Draco walked in as Sephiroth was attempting to strangle his tail without actually causing himself intense pain.

There was a storm on Draco's face, what was undoubtedly an impressive lecture rehearsed—all of which died when he got a good look at Sephiroth's condition. He spluttered, trying and failing to produce a cohesive sentence.

" _How_?" said Draco, finally regaining control of his voice. "Deboned—I can understand that. But _cat ears_? Is that a _tail_?"

Sephiroth shoved his tail, which had bristled up, behind him. It helpfully swayed around by his waist, stark against his white sheets.

"It's a long story," he said.

"I came all the way out here," said Draco, stepping in closer and letting the curtains fall behind him, "and I didn't do it for 'It's a long story.' What, did you mess up a transfiguration spell? Let me guess, your brother thought trying to become an animagus like Professor McGonagall was a good idea—"

"It was a bad potion," said Sephiroth, reminding himself Draco was a friend and insulting Harry was all but mandatory for him.

"A bad po—you didn't," said Draco, looming over Sephiroth disapprovingly. "Polyjuice potion?"

"What?" Sephiroth blurted guiltily. "No. Not that one. It was a library book, I mean not a restricted one—well, it sort of was—"

"Sephiroth," said Draco, bringing Sephiroth's mind to a screeching halt because that was the _first time_ Draco had ever spoken his given name. "My godfather is a potions master. I can recognize a Polyjuice potion failure when I see one."

Sephiroth only stared, nonplussed. He'd been sure Draco had forgotten his first name or something, as he'd never once referred to Sephiroth with it. Not that the name was particularly forgettable. If Sephiroth came across someone with a name like his own, he'd remember it.

"Hey," snapped Draco. "Are you listening?"

"No—I mean yes," said Sephiroth. "We got a cat hair instead of a human hair."

Mental gears were visibly whirling behind Draco's eyes, his mind processing the entire situation. It seemed Draco's attention kept getting dragged to the new ears on Sephiroth's head. They were pitch-black, unlike the silver of his hair, so they stood out in sharp contrast. At first he hadn't noticed, but now he was consciously aware of them perched on top of his head. It was as though his ears turned into fuzzy triangles and migrated to the top of his head.

"Well," said Draco, his voice strained, "it could be worse?"

Sephiroth didn't even bother with an answer.

While it wasn't nearly as terrifying as losing function to his legs—he would still pinch his legs every now and then, scuff his feet against the ground to make sure they worked properly—if it wasn't fixed, he would stand out far more than he already did. The only way he could imagine it worse was if Hermione had somehow mixed a snake in there, the etched scales in his skin cementing the beliefs of the other students.

"Wait," said Sephiroth, snapped out of his thoughts. There was something out of place, and that something wasn't being discreet about it. "What are you doing out here? It's well past curfew—you were just telling me not to go out after dark!"

"That's—I'm not—" Draco stammered in outrage. "You're one to talk—"

"I haven't gone out after dark all year long," said Sephiroth. Usually it was Genesis who liked teasing others, but the expression on Draco's face was something to behold. He looked aghast anyone would dare accuse him of wandering the castle after dark, while he was outside the Slytherin common room—after dark.

"Well, it's not like I've anything to worry about," said Draco defensively. "I'm a pureblood, anyway, and if your friends hadn't clung to your bedside all day, I could come earlier . . ."

Sephiroth was really going to have to convince the others Draco wasn't such a terrible person. He was fairly sure Harry was coming around, but Ron and Genesis in particular had something of a vendetta against the Malfoy family as a whole. Or Ron did, at least. Sephiroth was fairly sure Genesis didn't care very much if Mr. Weasley disliked Lucius Malfoy. Still, it would be leagues of awkward to have Ron doing nothing but glaring and Draco's knee-jerk reaction to throw insults didn't help matters.

"What did you do with the rest of the potion?" asked Draco. "It's a complicated one, you couldn't have just dumped it down a drain. What were you even trying to do?"

They had all decided not to use the Polyjuice Potion, claiming it didn't feel right to use it after what happened. Sephiroth was inclined to agree, giving how he was the one in the hospital—even if it was his fault for drinking the potion—suffering the indignity of cat characteristics.

"We didn't use it," said Sephiroth, leaving out the part where Hermione had bottled the Polyjuice in case they needed it at a later date. There was no doubt turning into someone else could easily be useful at some point.

"Yeah, but _why_ did you—oh, forget it, you're not going to tell me, are you?" said Draco, growing increasingly irritable. "You and your friends probably think the heir's one of us Slytherins, don't you?"

"That's not true," said Sephiroth, but it sounded fake even to his own ears. He wasn't sure who the Heir was—it could be literally anyone. That included the Slytherin house, along with the other three houses, too.

Going off the look Draco gave him, he didn't find Sephiroth's reply impressive, either. Sephiroth waited to be grilled for the truth and hoped he could talk his way out of any tricky questions. He knew why Draco was so paranoid, but that didn't mean he wanted to sell out his friends. Sephiroth could really only remember one time Draco had gone to a professor for something he and his friends did—over a concussion during one of Harry's Quidditch matches—and most of time, he kept his mouth shut. Impersonating Crabbe and Goyle to infiltrate the Slytherin common room was a little more personal, though.

Draco crossed his arms, eyeing Sephiroth speculatively—Sephiroth braced himself for the hard questions.

"So, er—those ears," said Draco. "May I touch them?"

Sephiroth's mind crashed and burned for a second time, gaping wordlessly at Draco. He unconsciously brought a hand to the top of his head, almost brushing his ears. He stopped just in time, regaining control of his mental faculties.

"No," he said.

"But—"

" _No_ ," said Sephiroth. "You can't just ask to touch people's ears. That's weird."

"You're lecturing me on how to not be weird?" said Draco, his eyebrows raised. He clearly found Sephiroth ridiculous for thinking he could tell what was and wasn't normal for social interaction.

While it was true, Sephiroth wasn't an expert on social behavior in the slightest (his impressionable years were spent with the Dursleys and they were anything but respectable role models), he wasn't about to let anyone touch his ears. Not even if they were fuzzy cat ears—or maybe especially because they were fuzzy cat ears.

The change of conversation was bizarre and left Sephiroth flailing for words. Even so, he managed to forget his surroundings, doing his best not to sound clueless in every word he spoke. Draco left soon after, wanting to get back to his dorm before anyone noticed his absence. There was a deafening lack of noise once Draco was gone, a void bereft of people. Sephiroth wished he had stayed awhile longer, even if only to fill the dead silence.

Weeks passed, the fur slowly melting from his face and arms, and classes started up again. Sephiroth wanted to call out Madam Pomfrey's lies, claiming his furry problem would be cured quickly. The ears were remaining stubborn attached to his head and his eyes hadn't changed back, his tail curled comfortably by his ankles. He almost scratched himself on many occasions, before Madam Pomfrey gave him a nail file and told him to shave them down to a manageable size.

Sephiroth had allowed himself to believe sprouting a tail would be enough to exempt himself from schoolwork. He was wrong, as Hermione brought it upon herself to ensure his success in every one of his classes. She was desperate to make up for the failed Polyjuice potion, and thought the best way was tutoring him in all their subjects.

"You'll have all O's this year," said Hermione determinedly, "I'll see to it."

"I'm happy with an A, really," said Sephiroth. "It's a passing mark—that's all I need."

"Never settle with anything less than the best," Hermione scolded. "That way, even if you fail, you'll still be far ahead of others."

"But it's not a competition," said Sephiroth, an ache developing behind his forehead. Rolls of parchment, inkwells and quills, and school books were strewn across his bed. There was a heavy tome on his tail and the tugging sensation against his spinal cord was enough to drive him up the wall.

"Let's give him a break," said Ron, looking halfway to the grave as well. "We've all been at this for hours. Where's Madam Pomfrey when we need her?"

Hermione angled him a critical look.

"Madam Pomfrey knows when to leave us be," she said. "We're being productive and helping Sephiroth keep up with his studies. There's no reason to throw us out."

"There's plenty reason to throw us out," Ron mumbled.

Sephiroth was torn between no homework and spending his time alone in the hospital. He leaned toward suffering through school books and Hermione's well-detailed notes, preferring that over the lonely quiet of an empty room. He pulled his tail out from under another stack of books—he threw a glare at Genesis, who had to be doing it on purpose—and contemplated how terrible it would really be if he just rejoined the rest of the school. Sure, he'd receive some odd stares, but it was hardly the worse thing to happen to him. Plenty of people had come to the hospital before with various appendages not belonging to their body.

When Sephiroth saw Madam Pomfrey next, once Harry and the others had left for the night, biding him sleep well, he brought up the matter.

"You're not leaving the hospital as you are," said Madam Pomfrey, sounding surprised he would even suggest it. "I've got to monitor you and make sure the potion's working right. I can't do that if you're darting round the castle all day!"

One week later, Sephiroth was met with a fate even worse than isolation and silence.

Gilderoy Lockhart finally regained consciousness.

He was still weak and shaky from whatever poison Aerith used on him, so he was bedridden. Sephiroth was left alone for the most of the day with only Lockhart for company. He considered writing Aerith again, but he'd have to explain why he was stranded in the hospital. If they heard about his condition, he didn't doubt they would visit the castle again for an instant.

"Dear me, more's the pity," said Lockhart, tut-tutting sadly when he took in Sephiroth's appearance the first time. The man had miraculously regained control of his legs within a day, Madam Pomfrey working faster than she had all winter to get him out of the hospital. "If I'd only been conscious—it's too late now, of course, but I know plenty of anti-transfiguration cures for your affliction. Madam Pomfrey is on your case, though, rest assured!"

Sephiroth only glared at him him, turning on his side. If he ignored Lockhart bluntly enough, perhaps he'd go away. When that didn't work, Sephiroth grabbed the potion bottle for reversing his cat-like state and ditched the Hospital Wing without a second thought. Madam Pomfrey would be absolutely furious with him later, but it was worth escaping Lockhart.

"Seph!" came Harry's shocked voice from across the entrance hall. "You're out—oh, your tail is showing."

"I'm beyond caring," said Sephiroth.

"Lockhart?" asked Genesis, wincing sympathetically.

"Lockhart," Sephiroth confirmed.

"I'll write Aerith later," said Harry. "I'll look less suspicious if I do it."

Ron looked giddy at the chance of putting Lockhart under the influence of poison again.

"D'you think we can just keep him in a coma for the rest of the year?" he asked.

"Don't see why not," said Genesis.

Hermione was the only one who looked doubtful. Despite how tempting it was to jump to conclusions and assume she had regained some of her fondness for Lockhart, Sephiroth chose to believe in her sensibilities. He was glad for it a second later, as her reasons for disagreeing couldn't be farther than for Lockhart's benefit.

"Now that he's conscious, Draco's father will be sending inquiries," said Hermione. "We ought to let them work their magic—literally and metaphorically."

They left the entrance hall when it was time for their next class—Sephiroth's first class for the term—passing the corridor where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. An enraged shout echoed down the corridor, followed by a slammed door and shuffling footsteps.

"Filch," said Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis at once. They glanced at each other, but said nothing, listening for anything else.

"And now even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore—"

"Ugh, he's just complaining as usual," said Genesis, rolling his eyes.

Harry and the others crowded forward though, curiosity in their eyes. Whatever had aggravated Filch caught their interest. Sephiroth knew a lost cause when he saw one, so he didn't even bother trying to stop them. He hadn't heard the voice at all in the past couple weeks, nor had there been any attacks. Filch didn't sound as though he found another Petrified student, either. Unless he thought Petrified students were as annoying as muddy floors—which was very possible, knowing Filch.

They crept along the corridor, water sloshing up to their ankles, gushing from under the door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was the very bathroom they'd brewed the Polyjuice potion in, and Sephiroth might have wondered if she actually missed their visits were he unable to hear her dramatic sobs reverberating in the bathroom.

"Now what's up with her?" said Ron woodenly.

"Do we really care?" asked Genesis.

"Good point," said Ron. "Let's go."

"I think we should check it out," said Harry. "It could be important."

"It's a flooded bathroom, what's so important about that?" scoffed Genesis. If he got anymore ruffled up, Sephiroth would think he was the cat-person. "It's already soaking into my boots. And it's bathroom water—how unhygienic."

"We've got class soon, anyway," said Sephiroth. After spending weeks in the hospital, he was looking forward to class. Even if his ears and tail caused double-takes and bewildered stares.

Harry gave the corridor a plaintive, longing look.

"But—"

"We can do this later," snapped Genesis. "Once Filch has cleaned up or something."

They finally managed to drag Harry away, albeit he was reluctantly dragging his feet, and make it to class on time. Professor McGonagall didn't even look at Sephiroth twice, which he considered a feat and made him respect her even more. He didn't appreciate the cat biscuit that somehow ended up on his desk by the end of the lesson, though.

During lunch, Fred and George tried feeding him tuna and Sephiroth rewarded their efforts by throwing it at them. They laughed and dodged out of the way. An all-out food war would have started if not for the timely arrival of Professor Snape, whose presence was enough to keep everyone in order.

"You're missing your bell," Pansy Parkinson shot at him as they passed each other in the hall.

"I'm going to kill her one of these days," said Harry. "Mark my words."

"Marked," said Genesis. "I'll remember that. Leave some for me."

"You are not plotting the murder of one of our classmates," said Hermione sternly.

"Yes, we are," said Genesis.

Once their next class let out, Harry decided to go back to Myrtle's bathroom, with or without Sephiroth and the others. Of course, that left them with no choice but to follow him ("Really, you don't have to—"; "Yes, actually, we do.") to the bathroom. At least if Harry got in something over his head, Sephiroth would be there to ensure he wasn't injured or worse.

They found Myrtle in her usual toilet, wailing even louder than normal. It was starting to reach the level of Mrs. Weasley's Howler, and Sephiroth was afraid his ears might start bleeding. The bathroom was cast in darkness, the water having put out the candles Hermione lit weeks ago. As ever, Sephiroth hung back when Harry approached Myrtle to talk. She never cooperated when Sephiroth was around, either too terrified or plainly hating his existence.

"Who's that?" said Myrtle, her voice reedy and trembling. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Genesis released a disgruntled noise.

"I swear if she's like this because someone _threw_ something at her . . ." He let his sentence hang in an unspoken threat.

"Why would I throw something at you?" asked Harry to Myrtle.

"Don't ask me!" she yelled.

Harry took a half-step back as even more water poured from her stall, the flood levels rising. Sephiroth grimaced, the water lapping above his ankles. It looked deep as knee-level in some areas.

"Here I am, minding my own business—"

"Oh, that's likely," Genesis growled. "She spies on the boy's bathrooms."

"She what?" said Sephiroth, horrified. " _What_?"

"—someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me . . ."

"How is that alright?" said Sephiroth. "Does she do it in all the bathrooms?!"

"No, just the ones the upper years use," said Genesis.

"Oh, that makes it all the better," said Sephiroth sarcastically.

Meanwhile, Harry must have stumbled across one of Myrtle's sore spots (it was easy to do), because she was yelling at him.

"Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head!" she seethed, rising above the stall. Sephiroth could see her hands clenched at her sides. "Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Who threw it at you, anyway?"

"I don't know . . . I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," she replied mournfully. "It's over there, it got washed out . . ."

Harry started toward the book and Ron, Genesis, and Angeal all but jumped him to stop him taking another step. Sephiroth hurried after them, just as surprised as Harry.

"Do you even have a brain in your head?" asked Genesis. "You don't approach mysterious inanimate objects! There's no saying what's going on with them."

"What are you saying?" asked Harry, annoyed.

"It could be very dangerous," said Angeal. "Our father works in Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts—he sees everything. There was one that burned your eyes out—another one forced you to never stop reading it. They found the poor Muggle going round doing everything one-handed."

"Don't forget Sonnets of a Sorcerer," said Ron, shuddering. "Everyone who read that spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And then there was this—"

"Alright, I get it," said Harry. "Don't pick up books from nowhere."

"Very good," said Genesis. "Honestly, it's like you're two years old, touching everything you see."

For a good half minute, they stood in a ring around the book, staring at it. Sephiroth restrained the urge to take a step back. Something about the book was wrong, sending chills down his spine. He was about to suggest they leave it, or even tell a professor, when Harry darted forward, snatching it off the floor before they could stop him.

"If you burst into flames," said Genesis, "you're on your own."

"What is it?" asked Sephiroth, pushing around the others to get a look. It was a diary, an old one at that. Going off the faded golden lettering, it was at least fifty years old.

"T. M. Riddle," Harry read aloud. He paused, flipping through several more pages. "That's all."

"Seriously? That's it?" said Genesis, grabbing the book from Harry and turning to the final page. "How boring."

"Boring is good," said Hermione, although she was eyeing the book speculatively. "I wonder if there's some kind of hidden message."

"Hang on," said Ron suddenly, his face lighting with recognition. "I know that name! T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago."

They all gave Ron nonplussed stares and Hermione even looked impressed. Sephiroth knew Ron wasn't dense, their chess matches proved that, but he wasn't the type to carry around trivia.

"It was in the trophy room," said Ron, embarrassed. "Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention. That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it, too."

"Well, he never wrote in his diary," said Harry, frowning.

"What's it doing in here, though?" asked Ron.

"No," said Hermione, drawing their attention to her. She wasn't focused on them, her mind somewhere far away. "Think about it, though. Fifty years ago, the Chamber of Secrets was opened—and fifty years ago, this T. M. Riddle gets an award for Special Services to the School."

"You think Riddle was the one who stopped the last Heir?" said Genesis. "What's that got to do with the diary, though?"

"Vauxhall Road, London," said Hermione, grabbing the book from Genesis and turning it over to see the back cover. "Whoever bought this was Muggle-born."

"So Riddle was Muggle-born?" said Harry.

"I didn't say that," she replied. "Chances are, Riddle didn't buy it. There's no point buying something you won't use. However, if Riddle _did_ lock up a monster attacking Muggle-borns . . ."

"Then, of course he'd get gifts from Muggle-borns," said Genesis. "If we learn more about Riddle, we may find out more about the Chamber, too."

Sephiroth watched them handle the diary from a safe distance, distrusting it even if the book had belonged to a school hero. It had been fifty years since it was bought and anyone could have possessed it since that time. The others didn't seem affected by it, but the longer Sephiroth stared at the cover the more uncomfortable he felt. It was last year all over again, a warning buzz built in the back of his head.

"Well, its no use to us," Ron commented, before whispering, "Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."

"Absolutely not," said Genesis, yanking the book back from Hermione and pocketing it. "I like my hearing as it is, thank you very much."

As expected, Madam Pomfrey wasn't pleased with Sephiroth when she saw him wandering the halls with everyone else. She swooped down on him, her expression thunderous, and he didn't dare oppose when she hauled him back up to the hospital. He remained there until the first week of February, free of his cat ears, tail, or whiskers. It wasn't until his proper human ears were back that he realized how muffled his hearing had been with the cat ears, which baffled him. He'd have thought his hearing would have been better with larger ears.

They were no closer to solving the mystery of the Chamber or the diary, as Hermione seemed to think there was something else going on with it. Sephiroth agreed, although not for the same reasons.

"There's something wrong with it," he said one evening, as they were all trying different revealing charms on the diary.

"Obviously," Genesis snorted.

"No, I mean there's something really wrong with it," Sephiroth insisted. "It's—It's not right. I don't know what, but—we should just get rid of it."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione, looking up from the diary.

"Don't you think he's being paranoid?" said Genesis.

"No," said Hermione, her eyes narrowed. "I don't. You're all very attuned to these kinds of things, him more so than both of you."

"Oh, so Sephiroth decides it should go and we toss it?" said Genesis irritably.

"I didn't say we should toss it—"

"Yes, maybe we should—"

"Well, that's just _stupid—_ "

"Genesis," said Angeal sharply, "it's not stupid if the diary really is dangerous. Let's not forget that whoever owned it decided to throw it away in the one place no one goes: Myrtle's bathroom."

The others looked disturbed by that thought and even Genesis had nothing to say. Despite their growing reservations toward the diary, Harry decided to keep it with him at all times, to Sephiroth's consternation. Nothing Sephiroth said mattered—the diary was a source of bewilderment to all of them, as alluring as it was repelling, and Harry seemed attached to it. Sephiroth started to notice Harry giving the diary long glances, opening it subconsciously only to set it down again, unable to ignore it.

Everything about it reminded Sephiroth of the Mirror of Erised, the irresistible urge to visit over and over again. It served to put him even more on edge. The diary was wrong, it shouldn't have even existed, and Sephiroth was in half a mind to take it from Harry and throw it into the lake. Maybe the Great Squid would eat it and they could be done with it.

If nothing else, the diary's continued presence pushed them into researching all they could on the diary's former owner. Their search turned up mostly useless, learning nothing more than T. M. Riddle was the definition of an overachiever. He was Head Boy and a Prefect, and he had a Medal for Magical Merit.

"So he was smart enough to figure out who the Heir was and have him arrested," said Angeal.

"I wonder whatever happened to him," said Hermione. "Credentials like that aren't overlooked in the Ministry."

"He could still be alive somewhere," Genesis suggested. "Fifty years isn't exactly an eternity, you know."

"Speak for yourself," said Ron. "Five decades is forever."

They received news later the same week that the Mandrakes were rapidly maturing, and they'd be ready for harvesting soon. Sephiroth overheard Madam Pomfrey telling Filch that his cat would be normal in no time. There was a pang in his chest at the thought of cats. He'd been trying not to think about Shinra, missing for the entire year and almost certainly gone. His cat, his first pet—just gone.

Now that Lockhart was no longer bedridden or delirious, he was free to prance through the castle halls again, forcing his presence on everyone who didn't want it. He seemed to be living under the impression his being in the castle alone was enough to stop the attacks, never mind the fact he'd been unconscious for the better part of two months.

"You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster," said Lockhart to Professor McGonagall while Sephiroth and the rest of his Gryffindor classmates were waiting for Transfiguration class to start. "Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing . . ."

"I don't want to know," Sephiroth groaned. "Whatever it is, please don't let it happen."

"Who are you praying to?" asked Genesis in amusement.

" _Anyone_ ," said Sephiroth.

His prayers went unheard, waking to a nightmare on February fourteenth. Sephiroth went with the others to the Great Hall without Harry that morning, as Harry had been up late at Quidditch practice. They pushed open the doors and were met with an explosion of pink, long trails of glittering flowers strung along the walls. Confetti shaped like mini hearts fluttered from the pale blue enchanted ceiling.

Sephiroth turned to leave.

Genesis grabbed his arm, pulling him through the doors.

"If we're suffering, so are you," he said. "Plus you need to eat breakfast. Do you want Madam Pomfrey on your case?"

"I think she'd understand," Sephiroth mumbled. "Why'd he even do this?"

"Valentine's Day," said Ron, grimacing in disgust. "Ugh, so much pink."

"Just don't look at Lockhart's robes," said Genesis.

Of course that meant everyone had to look, and Sephiroth was greeted with the sight of Lockhart's brand-new florescent pink robes, flower embroidered onto the sleeves. The other professors were in various states of displeasure, from Professor McGonagall's twitching cheek to Professor Snape's twisted expression of pain. They all sat stiffly, looking straight ahead. Sephiroth hoped one of them broke and cursed Lockhart.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" crowed Lockhart, standing to address everyone in the Great Hall.

Sephiroth sat at the Gryffindor table and rubbed his hands over his face, wishing all the decorations would go away. He opened his eyes and they were still there. A couple of the girls were giggling, nudging each other and pointing at specific decorations, all looking very charmed. Sephiroth searched out Draco in the rows of students, finding him sitting at the Slytherin table, resembling Ron when he was sick with slugs. None of the Slytherins looked pleased with the change of décor and Sephiroth was very, very tempted to join them.

"May I thank the forty-five people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all—and it doesn't end here!"

"Oh no," said Ron.

Sephiroth mirrored his sentiments.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and a dozen dwarfs ambled in, squat and crotchety looking, all too grouchy for the golden wings they wore. Golden harps were clutched in their hands, occasionally strummed to give a sound like a strangled hamster.

"My friendly card-carrying cupids!" said Lockhart cheerfully, gesturing grandly. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into to spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick was mortified, hiding his face behind his hands, and Sephiroth's grudge against Lockhart got even deeper. Sephiroth hoped Pansy Parkinson went and asked Professor Snape for a Love Potion—she'd probably end up dead somewhere, Slytherin or not. She was still mocking him over his cat ears, even after they were reversed.

"If anyone sends me a valentine, I'm burning it," said Genesis. He looked at Angeal and Sephiroth. "What about you two?"

Harry visibly tensed.

"No one's sending Seph any valentines," he said. "And those dwarfs can stay well away."

"Yes, but it he _does_ get one—"

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, the glint hiding his eyes from view.

"I'll take care of any and all valentines," he promised.

"Everyone still thinks I'm the Heir of Slytherin," said Sephiroth, and he knew he really shouldn't feel relieved over that—except he did. He was relieved he wouldn't be getting valentines or creepy dwarf long songs. "I'll be ignored."

If only that was true. Twice he'd been sent singing valentines purely to pick fun of his hair and eyes, and once to call him out on being evil. He was fairly sure the last one was sent by Ernie Macmillan, who was glaring daggers at him all day long. Harry was furious and trying to find out who exactly sent all the valentines, so he could get back at them. He caught sight of Ernie and darted off, leaving Sephiroth in the crowded hallway between classes. Sephiroth stood there, feeling more pessimistic than ever, before moving on to his next class.

He hadn't so much as taken three steps before someone ran up behind him—there was rapid, panicked chattering in his ear—and he was shoved into the nearest broom closet, alone. The person responsible stood outside the closet, keeping the doors shut. Sephiroth was so fed up with everything that he only watched the doors, waiting for the explanation.

"Draco, you'd better have a good reason for this," he said a minute later, when Draco didn't speak.

" _Shut it_ ," Draco hissed. "There's a dwarf coming. Someone from my house sent it."

Sephiroth shut up.

What felt like an eternity later, Draco started talking to someone—presumably the dwarf.

"No, he's not here—I think he went down that hall—why am I—I've got a free period, it's none of your concern."

Draco sounded incredibly offended.

"Well, I think the same of you," he snarled. "Go away!"

There was another long stretch of silence, before the closet doors were yanked open and Draco peered inside. Sephiroth's mind might have been addled by all the pink in the Great Hall, or his sanity finally gave out after the fourth singing dwarf, because all he could think of was—

" _Boo_ ," he said.

Draco drew short, his mouth snapping shut.

"I'm in a closet," said Sephiroth blankly. "You know. Like a—"

" _I know_ ," said Draco, shaking his head. He pulled Sephiroth out by his sleeve, as if Sephiroth was unable of walking out on his own. He was perfectly capable, but Draco seemed to think otherwise. Draco seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped Sephiroth's sleeve as though it burned him. "I'll just, er—go. Your friends are coming."

"Oh, all right, then," said Sephiroth. "Thanks for that, by the way."

Draco all but tripped over himself getting away as fast as possible.

"Ernie won't admit to anything," said Harry when he was in hearing distance of Sephiroth. He was followed by Genesis, Angeal, Hermione, and Ron. "And I don't know who else sent the other valentines."

"Someone sent another," said Sephiroth. When they all tensed, he quickly added, "Draco hid me in a closet, it's all right."

"He hid you where?" said Genesis.

"I turn my back for a _second . . ._ " said Harry, sounding furious with himself.

The rest of the day wasn't much better and, at some point, someone even sent Harry a valentine. Sephiroth and Genesis each grabbed one of Harry's arms and they ran, leaving the dwarf wheezing behind them. They headed to class after that, struggling to focus on their Charms work while other dwarfs burst into the classroom to deliver their singing valentines. Professor Flitwick tried in vain to stop the dwarfs, but it only ended with him dismissing the class in a foul mood.

"This day cannot get any worse," said Ron in a deadened tone, staring at the end of his wand. It was sparking purple.

" _Crescent!_ " came a shout above the heads of the other students. " _Crescent!_ "

"I just had to talk," Ron moaned.

Sephiroth was surprised to see Draco shove through a couple of first years, the shorter students scurrying away, holding onto something black and white and fuzzy.

His heart nearly stopped, mouth falling open, when Draco held the furry bundle up higher. Looking bigger and fuller than he was nearly a year ago, Shinra was held limply in Draco's hands with an extremely disgruntled expression.

"Crescent, I found your—"

Sephiroth didn't even know he'd moved until he was tackling them both, crushing Shinra into a hug and almost knocking Draco clean off his feet. Shinra's fur was soft against Sephiroth's cheek, warm and alive, everything he'd been too afraid to hope for, a thrumming purr reverberating in Shinra's body. There was a prick of Shinra's claws against Sephiroth's wrist.

"Where've you been?" said Sephiroth, sounding shaky even to himself.

Draco knelt down in front of him, hesitantly reaching out to brush his hand against Shinra's scalp.

"I just found him in the hall," he said, giving an awe-filled chuckle. "He looked like he owned the place or something."

The others had caught up, Harry immediately dropping to his knees to see Shinra. He scratched around the cat's ears, looking equal parts overjoyed and scolding. Genesis and Ron were clearly reevaluating Draco, while Angeal joined Sephiroth and Harry in pouring affection over Shinra. The cat lounged in Sephiroth's arms like royalty, and he couldn't help a laugh.

"You've been looking for him, too?" said Angeal, impressed.

"I—I may have kept an eye out," Draco replied.

"I guess, er . . ." Ron shoved a hand out for Draco. "You're not so bad. I'm Ron Weasley."

Draco's eyes fixed on the hand as if it was something strange and foreign, and Sephiroth was afraid he'd just stare at it until Ron's patience ran out. Finally, Draco accepted the handshake.

"Draco Malfoy," he said. "And, er, hand-me-downs are perfectly acceptable dress-wear. Not that you're wearing hand-me-downs. . . . And not that there's anything wrong with that, if you are—"

Genesis reached over and flicked Draco's forehead once, hard.

"That's for calling Sephiroth a half-breed," he said. "We're even now."

"I—yes, that . . . I was wrong," said Draco, clenching his fists at his sides. "I realize that now."

Sephiroth's eyes were burning, stilling clutching onto Shinra with a vice grip, and he had to blink moisture out of his eyes. Harry noticed and worriedly inquired if he was alright—Hermione inspected Shinra, pleased to find him healthy—Ron and Genesis hovered by Draco, begrudging and maybe a little resigned. Sephiroth buried his face in Shinra's fur to hide his beaming smile.

They were all together, and it was all he had ever wanted.

* * *

Omake

Beware, Beware, the Mistletoe's Snare

Later, Sephiroth would blame it all on Fred and George. He didn't know what he'd gone and done to get on their bad side, but they'd really pulled all the stops this time.

His feet weren't really glued to the floor, but they might as well have been, refusing to budge even the slightest inch. He'd even tried removing his shoes, cutting the soles of his shoes off, breaking the floor around his shoes. Nothing worked and he was left in a circle of destruction, kept in place by Fred's and George's magicked mistletoe.

"Please," he said, well-aware of Fred and George hiding behind the nearest set of armor, unable to contain their snickers. " _Please_ tell me how to undo this. . . . And please don't make it embarrassing?"

"Well, now," said Fred, stepping into the light.

"I suppose you asked nicely enough," George added, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "The answer's simple, really. You've been by it since the beginning, I believe."

"May I ask for no riddles?" said Sephiroth plaintively, giving his foot a tug. He knew it was in vain he couldn't help trying, over and over again.

"It's not a riddle!" Fred laughed. "It's a bit more poetic than that, I think."

"That sounds very confusing, annoying, and every bit a riddle . . ." Sephiroth's voice trailed off, his eyes widening. Of course they wouldn't tell him outright, especially when it was so much more aggravating to figure it out himself. The sinking in his stomach was more than just hunger, but a kind of dread he only felt when he came across a question on a pop quiz he had no answer to.

"Methinks he's gotten it, brother of mine," said George, grinning.

"He has," Fred agreed, nodding seriously.

"Oh, come on," said Sephiroth. "It's could be any line, and I haven't got all of _Loveless_ memorized!"

Fred pulled out a red hardback book, flipping to the first page and holding it up so Sephiroth could read it.

"Better start now," said Fred. "We randomized the stanza, so even we don't know."

Fifteen minutes of quoting later, Genesis showed up, searching for his book. When he saw the procession, he took it upon himself to aid Sephiroth in a history lesson of _Loveless._ It just so happened the release line for the mistletoe was the very last stanza. By the time they were finished, Sephiroth could quote back every single line of the epic without looking at the page, and he wanted to kill Genesis.

Sephiroth took a step forward.

Genesis, as it turned out, had good survival instincts and started running.

* * *

 **A/N: _Shamelessly_ _drowning in fluff, don't mind me_. There was some plot related stuff mixed in the fluff, though. **

**ALSO, somewhat important, I'll be moving my update day to Tuesday! So, technically next week's update will be a day late. Just so you guys know I didn't forget or anything!**

 **Guest: "Something tells me that Draco begged his father for the book for Sephiroth though I could be wrong." Nope, you're absolutely right! Draco's just not about to admit that out loud, least of all to Sephiroth. ... And the mental image of Genesis getting owned by a pint-sized dragon is something I never knew I needed! XD**

 **Wingsong5555: There is nothing wrong with wanting to cuddle cat!Sephiroth, because I want to do the same! :3**

 **Guest: "** **-Nibelheim Mako Reactor-" ..I laughed. So hard. I'm still laughing. And I really want to make an omake for this next week, because I didn't have time this week, omfg. XD " _No such luck, you are a cat_." I CAN'T. **

**Jaron: Yep, Hermione called Zack Mr. Strife. I fixed it XD Thanks for pointing it out, though! And I hope the omake clears up any confusion about the mistletoe!**

 **Guest: "tifa is one of my fav characters i'm very excited to see you write her! poor seph, it must suck to be a cat..." Thanks, I'm looking forward to writing her, too! ... Tbh, I always imagined the feeling of having an extension of one's spine (because a tail is essentially an extension of their spinal cord... I think... (I'm not a veterinarian)) would be kind of creepy. The ears would be cool, though.**

 **Guest: "Awww... He's adorable. Chibi Seph w/ cat ears and a tail is so cute!" I know, right?! He's adorable like that! (I was almost disappointed to get rid of the tail and ears, lmao!)**

 **Thanks for all your favs, follows, and reviews! _Seriously we broke over 100 reviews!_ It means a lot to me to hear from you all, so thanks again! :D**


	19. Chapter 19

19

Sephiroth didn't let Shinra out of sight for the rest of the day, even going so far as to risk a detention when he brought Shinra into the dungeons for Potions. Luckily, the cat elected not to make a ruckus in class and curled up in Sephiroth's bag. During Lockhart's first class back in action, Shinra's claws managed to sink into Sephiroth's wrist, stopping him reaching for his wand. If asked, Sephiroth would fully admit Shinra was the only reason he managed to endure Valentine's Day at all.

Once classes let out for the day, Sephiroth and the others made a beeline for Gryffindor Tower, after bidding Draco goodbye. Or rather, Genesis waved cheerily and directed Sephiroth toward Gryffindor Tower, leaving Draco vaguely annoyed and miffed. Sephiroth had shouted a hasty "See you later!" before he was pulled around a corner. He supposed he shouldn't have expected them to get over their animosity in fifteen minutes.

"Guess that scratches Malfoy off the list," said Genesis.

"List?" said Sephiroth.

"It does?" said Ron.

"What list?" Sephiroth asked in confusion.

"I've got something of a list compiled of possible suspects," said Genesis grandly, sounding very proud of himself. "First and foremost being Parkinson—she's a piece of work, I almost regret not using the Polyjuice to interrogate her."

Sephiroth aimed him a glare, the phantom feeling of twitching atop his head reminding him that only days ago, he'd possessed a pair of cat ears.

"Almost," Genesis repeated, rolling his eyes instead of looking properly chastised. "Next is Ernie MacMillan. He's far too insistent on Sephiroth being the Heir for me to overlook him—it's as if he's covering for something."

"You think _Ernie_ is the Heir?" snorted Ron. "He's a git, but anyone who thinks the sun shines out of Lockhart's backside can't be smart enough to be the Heir."

"Who said the Heir was smart?" Hermione threw in, not bothering to look up from her potions assignment. "He's attacking _Hogwarts_ , and Dumbledore is the Headmaster. Dumbledore's the most powerful wizard alive, no one with half a brain would attack Hogwarts while he's here."

"And Ernie is pureblood, he said so himself," Genesis added. "I don't mean to be prejudiced, but anyone who's attacking Muggle-borns is probably a bigoted pureblood."

"That doesn't exactly narrow down the searches," said Harry. "Plenty of people in Hogwarts are pureblood—that'd make most of the school—Shinra, _no_!"

Shinra, who had apparently grown tired of being ignored for all of fifteen minutes, had strutted across their table. With one deliberate flick of his tail, an inkwell toppled over and ink spilled out, soaking into the pages of their books and dripping off the side of the table.

He proceeded to jump off the table—avoided Genesis's attempt at catching him—and tracked dark blue paw prints over the carpets. Sephiroth snatched Shinra up, the cat only lazily staring up at him, as if unaware he'd reduced their table to chaos in seconds. His tail flicked happily, burrowed in Sephiroth's arms and seeming content.

"Bad," said Sephiroth weakly. "You'll stain your paws that way. I don't know if ink washes out of white fur."

"Is that what you're worried about?!" snapped Ron, gesturing to their soaked books wildly. "What about my parchment? I _just finished it!_ "

"A rewrite never harmed anyone," said Hermione primly, but she turned a critical eye to Shinra. "No more walking on the tables."

"What she said," Sephiroth told Shinra, scratching behind the cat's ears and trying valiantly to keep a fond smile at bay.

"The diary!" gasped Harry, holding up the sodden book, droplets of ink falling to the floor.

"You're cleaning that up," said Genesis.

"No, _look_ ," said Harry insistently, opening the diary to show blank pages. There wasn't a word or mark on them, as per usual, and Sephiroth was concerned with whatever Harry thought he saw.

Genesis and Ron seemed to echo Sephiroth's worry for Harry's sanity. Angeal appeared to be mentally formulating the best way to break it to Harry that nothing was there, but Hermione's eyes had widened in realization.

"It's perfectly clear!"

"Exactly," said Harry in excitement. "This means something!"

"But what?" said Hermione. "Why is it clear? Did none of the ink reach the pages?"

"Spilled all over it, I saw myself . . ."

What happened finally clicked, the diary's blank pages and the spilled ink already drying into their schoolbooks. The ink had gotten all over everything, including the diary, but the pages were stain-free. Sephiroth wondered if that was what happened to anything written in the diary, all the words were eaten up.

Harry almost immediately dived for a quill to start writing in the diary, but Genesis and Angeal held him back, while Ron reasoned they wait for everyone else to head off to bed. Shortly after, Ron waspishly told Ginny to go to bed early, as there were heavy bags under her eyes from too many sleepless nights. She was pale as ever, glancing nervously at Harry, before scurrying up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Within the next three hours, the rest of the Gryffindors trudged up the staircases to retire for the night.

"Weren't you a little mean to Ginny?" said Angeal as they sat around the table nearest to the fireplace. He was talking to Ron, but his gaze was fixed on the diary same as everyone else.

"And didn't you want to try this thing out tonight?" said Ron. "She'd have just sat there staring all night, otherwise."

"Who's going to write in it?"

"I will," said Harry and Genesis at once. They looked at each other in surprise, a hair away from glaring.

"I'll pass," said Ron, eyeing the diary warily. "I still don't trust it."

"If that's the case," said Hermione, "how about I write it in? Or Sephiroth," she added.

Sephiroth would rather do just about anything but write in that diary, but he remembered all the stories he'd been told about cursed Muggle objects, from Genesis, Angeal, and Ron, and the rest of the Weasley family over summer break. If anyone was going to be cursed to communicating through only writing, better Sephiroth than his brother. Or Hermione.

"No way," said Harry, trying to reach around Genesis for a quill. "The diary was bothering Seph, he's not gonna write in it!"

While Harry was wrestling in vain against Genesis, Sephiroth dipped a quill in ink and went to write something—anything—onto the first page of the diary. He hesitated, the quill hovering above the page, something heavy and uncomfortable dropping into his stomach. He felt weary all of a sudden and the temptation to nod off on the spot was very strong.

Hermione seemed to notice, a frown marring her forehead.

"Never mind," she said quickly. "This was a bad idea—hand me the quill."

When he didn't react immediately, she called his name sharply. Sephiroth started, the motion sending a droplet of ink splashing onto the diary's page. The ink disappeared into the page mere seconds later.

The others, including Hermione and Harry, seemed transfixed by the ink vanishing into the page. Sephiroth didn't waste another moment scrawling out the word, " _Hello._ "

He'd never been very good at conversation starters.

The word sank into the diary's page, before several more reappeared in the same ink.

" _Hello. My name is Tom Riddle. Who might this be_?"

Sephiroth went to reply, but there was a chorus of protests from the others.

"Don't tell it your name," said Ron. "It might get power over you."

"A _name_ isn't going to give anything power," said Genesis. "But you shouldn't write anything else—let me try, instead—"

He stopped as another question appeared in the diary's page.

" _How did you come by my diary_?"

Ignoring the others, Sephiroth brought the quill to the page.

" _I'm Sephiroth Crescent. Someone threw it away in the bathroom_."

For a long period, there was no answer. The others crowded around Sephiroth, finally having stopped arguing over who would write next, watching excitedly.

" _Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink_ ," came the written reply. " _But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read._ "

"What's he mean by that?" asked Harry in a whisper, as if afraid the diary could hear them.

"He must mean whatever happened fifty year ago," said Hermione in an equally hushed tone. "Tom Riddle—he must have stored some account of what happened in here, somehow—"

"Would you all stop whispering?" said Genesis loudly, making them jump. "It's not like a book has ears, you know."

Instead of waiting for them to argue it out, Sephiroth wrote out Harry's question.

" _I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things_ —"

"I was right," said Hermione gleefully.

Genesis rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"— _Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_."

"Let me write, Sephiroth," said Genesis impatiently. "Honestly, going and trying to sound as if he doesn't know we're in Hogwarts—how stupid does he think we are?"

"He's not the enemy here," said Angeal. "Let Sephiroth write. We don't know if he'll be willing to talk to anyone else."

That didn't seem to improve Genesis's mood very much, but he stopped pestering Sephiroth. Before he could start again, Sephiroth starting writing.

" _We're in Hogwarts right now._ _Someone's doing terrible things now, too, just like they did back in your time, I think. Can you tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?_ "

" _Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets._ " The reply was swift, and Tom was clearly frantic to get it all out. " _In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing six. I caught the person who'd opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the students died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned._ "

Harry snatched up a quill and almost knocked the inkwell over, in his haste to write out his own words.

" _It's happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who's behind them. Who was it last time?_ "

" _Who is this?_ " Riddle's words soaked into the page.

"Harry!" snapped Hermione in disapproval. "Now he might not tell us!"

Sephiroth pulled the diary out of Harry's reach before he could write more.

" _It was my brother, Harry Potter,_ " he wrote out. " _Sorry about that. Do you know who did the attacks?_ "

" _I can show you, if you like. You don't have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him._ "

Sephiroth almost dropped the diary when he read that, glancing up worriedly at the others. Harry looked contemplative, but Genesis and Angeal had gone very pale. Until that moment, Sephiroth hadn't known it was possible for a sentient diary to show memories—of course, he hadn't known sentient diaries existed.

"What's he mean by that?" said Hermione tensely.

"This isn't right," said Ron. "'Don't talk to things if you can't see where its brain is.' There's a reason Mum drilled this into our heads—"

More words were bleeding into the page, cutting him off.

" _Let me show you._ "

"He's very set on us seeing this," said Genesis. "I don't know how I feel about seeing a diary's memories."

"I don't want get anywhere near any diary's memories," said Sephiroth bluntly, twitching to set the diary on the table. His fingers seemed to be glued to the cover, while the others couldn't come to an agreement.

"These could be the answers we've been looking for," said Harry. "It's _right here—_ he's just giving it to us! If only we'd found the diary earlier."

"We don't know what it'll do, though," said Hermione hesitantly.

"It's a _book_ ," said Harry. "It can't do very much, right?"

Ron, Genesis, and Angeal threw him incredulous looks.

"Limericks for the rest of your life?" said Ron, raising his eyebrows. "I dunno about you, but that sounds pretty terrible."

"This Tom person could tell us anything," said Sephiroth, dropping the quill on the table and allowing himself a sigh of relief. The diary was lifeless, making it impossible for Sephiroth to tell if the speaker was lying to them. "We all want to know the truth so badly, we may just believe whatever he tells us, even if it's not right."

Harry faltered, glancing down at the diary wordlessly.

"Why don't we sleep on it?" Angeal suggested, chuckling when they all threw him harried looks. "I think we could all use it."

"That sounds good," said Harry, nodding. "Yeah. We'll sleep on it."

Sephiroth quickly scrawled out their decision, tension flooding out of his body and suddenly finding it much easier to loosen his grip on the diary. He didn't know what had come over him, but he wasn't looking forward to writing anything else in it.

" _Very well_ ," came Tom's reply. " _Your caution is understandable and, I'll add, admirable. It does well to keep a measure of wariness in these times._ "

"Well, that takes care of that," said Genesis, reaching over and snapping the book closed in Sephiroth's hands, yanking it away. "Honestly, I can't tell if I want to ask him to spill everything or if I just want to toss this thing to the Great Squid."

"If you're asking," Ron mumbled, "I'd go with the squid."

They headed off to bed, Harry with the diary under one arm, but Sephiroth's sleep was restless that night. It left him staring wide-eyed at his bed posts while the others slept soundly. He didn't realize he had nodded off until he heard the morning songs of birds outside the window, the beginnings of dawn melting into the dark sky. Harry's bed was empty and his trunk lay open, his broom gone. He'd been pulled into another all-too early practice by Oliver Wood, it seemed.

Unable to drift off again, Sephiroth gave up on sleep and rolled out of bed, yawning as he pulled on his clothing. He half-tripped out of the dorm, narrowly saving himself from a dangerous tumble down the stairs, and was heading down the corridor to the entrance hall before he had fully woken up. He nearly took the usual route, but switched to a much longer, less-used path when he remembered Lockhart was now freely wandering the castle.

It was the sifting of dry scales against stone that snapped Sephiroth to alertness.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, listening hard. Sure enough, he heard something large moving in the distance, like sandpaper against the walls. Sephiroth almost shrugged it off, starting down the corridor again, but aborted the action as the sound grew louder.

When the noise of scales against the walls grew so loud that Sephiroth didn't have to strain his ears, he decided breakfast could wait. Most likely it was one of the Weasley twins' pranks, or they were up to something in the hidden passageways. Sephiroth did his best not to think how it would make too much sense for Slytherin's monster to be serpentine and went to backtrack to Gryffindor Tower.

" _Let me rip . . ._ "

Sephiroth's heart did a flip and his walk turned into a near-jog, keeping close to the wall to listen for anything coming nearer. For one reckless moment, he considered running toward the voice—finding who was responsible. Then he thought of how Draco would murder him for even thinking that, of what everyone else would think, what _Harry_ would think, and discarded the idea.

" _Let me devour you . . ._ "

He stumbled to a halt again, the voice even louder. Sephiroth took a startled half-step back. He'd been certain he was running _away_ from the voice.

" . . . _give me blood . . ._ "

It was even louder.

" _Let me kill you . . ._ "

The voice was coming from all angles, Sephiroth could almost feel it reverberating in his chest. He wanted to both run and hide, but he didn't even know where to go—how to get away. The hall before him suddenly looked much darker, foreboding.

Sephiroth turned on heel, already half-tilt into a run—

And stared up into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes.

" _KILL!_ "

That was the last he saw.

* * *

Harry was exhausted.

He'd been dragged to practice without so much as a bite to eat and expected to understand all of Wood's ramblings in his muddled, half-awake state of mind. Fred and George had openly and loudly expressed their dislike of Wood's work ethic, even though they hadn't seemed to even break a sweat during the entire practice. They had improved a lot as Beaters in the past couple months, impressing them all, and forming the theory that they'd be able to carry the entire team by themselves through a Quidditch match and win. When Wood heard that theory, he almost blew a fuse—he didn't want to risk their chances during the games at all.

Stifling yet another yawn behind his hand, Harry pushed into the entrance hall. He smiled when he saw everyone waiting for him there, crowded together. They'd always been a close-knit group, even more so with all the attacks happening in the school lately.

Harry was reminded of Riddle's diary, which lay safely up in his trunk in Gryffindor Tower, full of secrets waiting to be learned. Indecision had warred inside of him throughout the entire practice session that morning, uncertain whether or not they should allow Riddle to show them the memories. Opening themselves up to a magical artifact they knew little to nothing about seemed dangerous, even foolish, but it could uncover the Heir of Slytherin's identity once and for all.

That meant no more attacks, no more rumors of monsters in the hallways. If they brought whoever was truly responsible to justice, Harry would no longer have to grit his teeth and glare at people as they cast his brother wary and mistrustful looks. Sephiroth put on a good show of being unbothered by their looks and quiet—or not so quiet—comments, but Harry knew better. He knew Sephiroth inside and out, had taught him to speak and read, and sometimes Harry even felt like he'd raised Sephiroth. There was no way Sephiroth wasn't affected by the other students' dissent.

He crossed the entrance hall and the blaring absence of Sephiroth caught his attention immediately.

"He's not with you?" said Harry and Angeal in unison.

"I haven't seen him since I left the dorm this morning," said Harry, running through a list of places Sephiroth went to alone and finding it nonexistent. When his mind jumped into the darker areas, Harry struggled to keep picturing an image of Sephiroth simply standing around in a random courtyard, perfectly safe and well—not injured or lost or scared—

"Could he be with Malfoy?" asked Genesis, shuffling. He seemed unable to stay still for long.

Harry was the same, itching to dart off and check every corridor, every classroom, until he found Sephiroth. And then chastise him for disappearing like that, when things were so tense in Hogwarts.

"Malfoy?" said Ron, trying his best not to sound derisive and failing.

"Yeah, they've been friends for a while," said Genesis. "They could have gone off and done . . . well, I don't know. Whatever it is Slytherins do, I guess."

"That's inspiring," said Ron sarcastically.

They didn't waste time standing around, scouring the halls for a glimpse of silver hair. It was becoming harder and harder for Harry to keep that peaceful mental image of Sephiroth in the forefront of his mind. Eventually he was left with the sinking feeling he was avoiding the inevitable, hiding from a bitter truth behind a fabricated lie.

The lie shattered when he spotted Professor McGonagall—or rather, she spotted him. Her face was taught, lips drawn into a sharp line, and none of the usual ferocity in her eyes.

"No," said Harry, unbidden.

She started toward him and Harry's feet were frozen to the ground while his mind raced, coming up with any possible reason she'd pick him out of the crowd. Something he'd done or said—anything that didn't involve Sephiroth, but all rational thought had flown away.

"He's not—he's isn't—" Harry could hardly speak.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasleys—come with me," she said, her tone perfectly even and betraying nothing, but that was betrayal in itself. Professor McGonagall rarely tried to hide her feelings on anything, unless it was something particularly horrible.

Harry couldn't hear what was being said around him after that, his focus tunneling to thoughts of Sephiroth, and it was so tempting to break out into run. He already knew they were going to the hospital, he knew exactly who was in there and why.

 _The monster attacked several students, finally killing six._ , Tom Riddle had said.

Harry shoved ahead of Professor McGonagall, heedless of her outraged calls, pushing through the throngs of students and didn't stop running until he was outside the hospital door. He was already reaching for denial as he walked in. Maybe Sephiroth had drunk a bad potion again. Maybe he simply fell down a flight of stairs, hurt his arm. He was alright, Madam Pomfrey would have him fixed up in no time . . .

His eyes were drawn to the slip of silver tucked into one of the cots, motionless and pale. Sephiroth seemed to wilt under the hospital sheets pulled up to his chest, colorless and blank as an unused canvas. The white was jarred by bloody tears, streaming from under Sephiroth's closed eyelids and staining his hairline.

Harry took two large steps over, seeming to clear the distance in a heartbeat, almost reaching to grab Sephiroth's shoulders and shake him awake. He had to be sleeping—that was the only explanation for what Harry saw and he would take nothing else.

Sephiroth's fingers were pliable in Harry's hand.

Not Petrified.

 _The monster attacked several students, finally killing six._.

The world became washed in watercolor, blurred and fractured. Harry couldn't see more than vague shapes, something numb and wrong settling into his heart. He couldn't think, he didn't want to think.

"Harry—Harry, dear, he's alive—"

Warm hands were massaging his own hands, which were cold and tingling slightly.

"There we go, good—breathe, in and out . . ."

Madam Pomfrey guided him to a chair by Sephiroth's cot, seating him as the hospital door burst open. Angeal, Genesis, Ron, and Hermione poured into the hospital, followed by Professor McGonagall, who didn't have the heart to scold them. They hurried to Sephiroth's bedside, tears glittering in Hermione's eyes. Genesis and Angeal were rigid enough to snap pressure, and Ron looked as sick as Harry felt.

"He is Petrified," said Madam Pomfrey, but there was a pause in her inflection, uncertainty. "Of a sorts. I'll level with you, Harry. He may have to be moved to St. Mungo's. I've done what I can, but this is out of my hands."

"Y-You said he's Petrified, though," said Hermione, sounding very small. "They why . . . why are his eyes . . ."

"I said 'of a sorts'," said Madam Pomfrey swiftly, regaining her normal bluster. It served to soothe away some of Harry's gnawing horror, but didn't completely erase it. "He's not quite Petrified, though. Parts of him are perfectly healthy, but others are petrified. His eyes, for one . . ."

"Why—" Harry faltered, his voice hollowed out. "Why are his eyes bleeding?"

"I'd like to find out," said Madam Pomfrey. "However, the rest of his face is Petrified. Whatever's wrong with his eyes is locked under his eyelids."

Harry couldn't bring himself to speak after hearing that, even while Madam Pomfrey went on explaining why it was so much worse that Sephiroth was not completely Petrified. He hardly heard any of it, other than Sephiroth had been hurt and was still in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it. Once again he felt helpless, sitting there and watching his brother suffer, because he had to be suffering, and the longer Harry thought about it the harder it was to sit still.

A lightning bolt of inspiration stuck him. Harry sat upright, looking around—Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were conversing in hushed tones, glancing at Sephiroth occasionally—and the rest of his friends, crowded around Sephiroth's unmoving form. Hermione mopped up the tears of blood, blinking her own eyes rapidly, and Genesis was a deadly kind of white-faced calm.

Harry approached Sephiroth's side again, took one of his limp hands, reveling for a moment in how small and doll-like he seemed under the sheets.

"I'm going to ask him," said Harry quietly to himself—to Sephiroth, to his friends. "I'm asking Riddle for the truth."

"Yeah," said Genesis. "Yeah, we should. This is it. This is the line."

That was the line.

Hermione set the cloth down, nodding her agreement.

"You're not staying longer?" said Madam Pomfrey in surprise, as they left. "Usually I can't get rid of you when he's here."

"I can't—I can't stay," said Harry, and it wasn't entirely a lie. He couldn't bring himself to look over at Sephiroth again, cast in a sickly pallor from blood loss. "I can't."

Madam Pomfrey seemed to understand, as she didn't press him anymore. They broke into a flat out sprint when they were outside the hospital, neither of them caring less who saw them. Percy tried to shout at them as they passed him, something about points and reporting, but losing points was the last thing on their minds. Harry felt almost the same as he did the previous year, except it might have been even worse. The distant, but very real, threat of Voldemort returning paled against the loss of his brother.

When they reached Gryffindor Tower, Harry practically tore through the portrait of the Fat Lady and up the staircase to his dorm. He passed Neville on the way, who asked what was wrong, but Harry ignored him in favor of diving for his trunk. Riddle's diary was hidden safely away, tucked under Harry's invisibility cloak, and waiting to be written in.

"What happened?" said Neville again.

"Sephiroth was attacked," said Angeal lowly. "He's in the hospital now."

"What—no," said Neville, but he was already rushing for the portrait, his face drained of color. Undoubtedly, Sephiroth was about to be visited by another friend.

Harry felt a sudden stab of guilt for leaving Sephiroth alone in the hospital—he of all people knew how much Sephiroth hated being alone—but bringing whoever attacked his brother to justice was more important. Someone targeted Sephiroth and they were going to pay.

"Ready?" said Harry, the diary opened. They were in the common room, which was deserted while classes were in.

There was a chorus of affirmations from everyone.

" _Hello_ ," Harry wrote out. " _It's Harry. We're ready. Show us everything._ "

The reply was swift.

" _Very well_."

Harry held his breath as a conjured wind seemed to tear through the diary, blowing the pages by until it landed around halfway through. The pages crawled with ink, growing and growing until it fit the entire book, filling out into a black-and-white colored image of a familiar office. Harry and the others prepared themselves to watch the truth unfold before them, although he had, admittedly, thought it was going to be a bit more dramatic—

Before he knew what happened, Harry was tumbling forward into the pages, falling off the sofa with his friends' shouts echoing in his ears.

His vision sharpened, the office gaining color and shadows. He was in Dumbledore's office, sans the hundreds of silvery gadgets and knickknacks, and Fawkes. That wasn't all that was different, sitting in Dumbledore's chair was a man who looked even older and brittle. He had a few patches of hair left, snowy white, and his head was bent over a letter.

Harry had been staring for nearly a minute, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to be there.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to butt in—"

There was no reaction. Harry waited for the old man to say something, only to stand in silence.

"Er—I'll just go, shall I?" said Harry awkwardly. He thought these were supposed to be the diary's memories. Had he been wrong to trust Tom Riddle? "Sorry I disturbed you! I'll go now!"

Instead of leaving, though, Harry stayed in the office. The old man—he had to be the Headmaster of Tom Riddle's era—clearly couldn't see or hear him. Harry was a mere stranger in Tom Riddle's memories, unable to actually interact with anything. He felt a little foolish for calling out to the Headmaster now.

Soon, there was a knock at the office door.

"Enter," said the old man, sounding just as old as he looked.

The boy who arrived was a couple years older than Harry, maybe a fifth or sixth year, with jet-black hair and skin that looked bleached of color. He was sporting the silver prefect's badge.

"Ah, Riddle."

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle, clasping his hands behind his back in a clear attempt to stop his fidgeting.

Professor Dippet told Riddle to take a seat and the conversation wore on: Riddle wanted to stay at Hogwarts over the summer instead of return to his Muggle orphanage. In any other circumstances, Harry would have taken the time to feel understanding and sympathy, but he really wanted to find out who did the attacks. He wanted to know who hurt his brother.

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" came Riddle's voice, startling Harry into listening closely again.

"Precisely. My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy . . . the death of that poor little girl. . . ." Dippet's voice trailed off for a moment, grief-stricken. "You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the—er—source of all this unpleasantness . . ."

"Sir—if the person was caught—if it all stopped—"

"What do you mean?" said Dippet, leaning forward and looking far more animate than before. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir."

Harry knew without a shadow of a doubt Riddle was lying. He had told Dumbledore the same thing himself, when asked about what he knew of the attacks. It seemed like so long ago, when he and Sephiroth were taken up to Dumbledore's office after Justin Finch-Fletchley was attacked.

"You may go, Tom . . ."

At Dippet's words, full of poor-concealed disappointment, Riddle made to get up and leave. Harry tripped over himself following, afraid of missing an important clue of some kind. He'd been sure Riddle would tell Dippet himself—but then again, Riddle also said they didn't want him telling the truth to the world. He probably knew he had to capture the "source" (as Dippet put it) of the attacks alone.

Waiting for Riddle outside the Headmaster's office was another student, around the same age as Riddle, with pale blond hair and a pointed chin. There was something hauntingly familiar about the boy, but Harry didn't make the connection until he started talking.

"Ri—Tom. We need to talk," he said, leaving no room for arguments.

The new boy looked like Draco Malfoy.

It occurred to Harry that he was looking at Draco's grandfather, or something along those lines. The somberness in the boy's eyes, weary lines that didn't seem to belong on his face, as if he was stressed, separated him from the Malfoy Harry knew.

"Not now," said Riddle. "Later, Abraxas."

Abraxas Malfoy was left standing in the middle of the hall, his heavy and unreadable stare following Riddle until he turned the corner.

They were interrupted again by a man with long red hair and a full beard. When Harry realized the wizard was, in fact, a fifty-years younger Dumbledore, he stopped and stared until he noticed Riddle had moved along. He had to jog to keep up with Riddle, whose longer stride made it impossible for Harry to follow at a normal pace. The general sadness in the face of younger Professor Dumbledore, the pallor of the entire castle, was befitting of the somber reality of there being several students injured and dead.

Despite keeping a fast pace for several minutes, Harry didn't feel winded and guessed it had something to do with him being inside a memory. He found himself heading down the steps to the dungeon, which looked just as damp, dark, and unwelcoming as it did in the present day. With all the fires put out of the torches, the dungeon was even darker than usual.

Eventually they stopped outside a door and Riddle slipped inside, waiting. He seemed to melt into the shadows, dark eyes trained outside the doorway, leaving Harry bewildered and frustrated. They stayed like that, until Harry's patience had already worn out and he was left pacing back and forth, wishing something would happen. The minutes dragged on like hours, the utter stillness oppressive—and then there was shuffling along the passage, stealthily approaching.

When the figure sneaked by, Riddle left the doorway and tailed the person, ghosting along the floor silently. Harry squinted through the darkness to see the identity of the perpetrator, figuring this had to be the person responsible for the attacks—for harming his brother—but he couldn't make out any distinguishing characteristics.

A couple minutes of walking later, the newcomer pushed open another door and stepped inside. Riddle drifted to the door, peering inside, his wand held at the ready. Harry waited with bated breath and not for the first time he wished he could barge ahead.

"C'mon," the person said, their voice strained and hushed. "Gotta get yeh outta here . . . C'mon now . . . in the box . . ."

Harry had heard that voice before, but he didn't have time to puzzle over it. Riddle left his cover, barging into the room and making a boy, towering over both of them, jump badly.

"Evening, Rubeus."

Riddle didn't sound particularly friendly and Harry wondered why he bothered with pleasantries at all.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?" asked the boy, hovering in front of a large box nervously. He flinched as Riddle took another step.

"I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus," he said. "They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop. . . . It's all over."

The boy spluttered for words, looking aghast.

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone," Riddle went on. "But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and—"

"It never killed no one!"

But Harry had heard enough. Riddle drew his wand—the boy moved on reflex—and Harry shrieked and ran out of the way as an enormous spider scuttled out of the box. (Phantom or not, that spider was _huge_ and Harry wanted nothing to do with it). It knocked Riddle over running out of the room, long legs clicking against the stones and many black eyes glinting in the darkness.

The memory ended as the boy leaped on Riddle when he aimed his wand at the retreating spider, his bellow echoing down the whirling halls. Harry felt the ground slip out from under him, the floor rising up to meet him, and then he was sitting back on the sofa, in the Gryffindor common room.

" _Harry! Harry!"_

"This was a bad idea, why did I let this happen—"

"You alright? What happened? Did you see anything?"

Angeal, Genesis, Ron, and Hermione poked and prodded him, bursting with questions. They appeared to have been panicking the entire time he was in Riddle's memory.

"It was Hagrid. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago."

Harry had never regretted knowing something so much in his life.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter comes to you slightly late, because life loves to go, "Oops!" and spill bad luck on my plans. (Bad internet).**

 **And yes I just petrified Sephiroth. Sort of. (I'm so not sorry, lmao).**

 **Guest:** **"** **Poor Sephiroth having to deal with Lockheart's idiocy" Well.. he doesn't have to for now...? Gods, I'm a terrible person, I know. And I've got a couple omakes planned if life would give me the time to write them, LOL!**

 **Kit: I know, I was sad, too. Sephiroth looks so adorable with cat ears and a tail. Especially the tail. Although that might have something to do with my love of Kuja from FFIX...**

 **Toby: Yeah, it sucks he's back... but at least Aerith's poison managed to put him down for awhile. And Valentine's Day seemed like the best way for him to make his epic comeback as the castle scourge... XD Oh man, Cloud, Zack, and Aerith would definitely all be chased around the castle by valentines if they showed up... Actually they probably avoided Hogwarts during Valentine's Day for that reason. :/**

 **Jaron: I know the feeling of being back on your PC. I named mine Precious. (I wish I was kidding). And the "How can I not, when you've beaten into my head" line will probably show up somewhere, because I'm a sucker for references and Easter eggs in stuff. I've already left tons of vague anime references in here XD And practicing violin is a perfectly reasonable distraction! Violin music is beautiful.**

 **Guest: "** **My reaction to the Lockhart scene was to whisper "he's awake" in utter dread." I'm proud, too. I had the same reaction writing it.**


	20. Chapter 20

20

There were mixed reactions to Harry's revelation. Genesis outright thought he'd gone insane and the diary was to blame. Hermione and Ron were unable to make up their minds whether it wasn't true, or if Hagrid had released the monster on accident. Angeal was the only one who'd said nothing, sitting quietly and lost in his own mind.

Students began pouring into the common room long before they were done arguing over it, prompting them to move to an abandoned classroom. Harry dumped the diary up in his trunk, before running back down to catch up with them. Word of Sephiroth's condition had clearly spread in the time Harry had been viewing Riddle's memories. The stares he received were pitying, even guilty by some of the students were who more vocal about their distrust of Sephiroth, and he had to avoid a couple Hufflepuffs who wanted to openly apologize.

"Even Hagrid would know better than to do something like release a monster that could _kill_ people!" snapped Genesis as soon as they were out of danger of being overheard. "He may be bumbling, but he's not nearly as slow as people like to think! He's dealt with magical creatures all his life, he _knows_ to be careful—"

"But he wasn't as experienced back then, was he?" said Ron regretfully. "He had to be pretty young."

"I couldn't really tell," Harry admitted. "It was dark and he was still tall."

"And you're forgetting he tried to raise a dragon in his house," said Hermione. "His _wooden_ house."

Genesis opened his mouth, only to close it again.

"But—it's _Hagrid_ ," he said.

Harry understood more than anyone and he didn't want to believe it, either. It was Hagrid who introduced him to the magical world, who broke down that old door and whisked Harry and Sephiroth away from his cruel relatives for the first time. Hagrid bought Hedwig for Harry as a birthday gift, had always supported him, both quietly and not. That Hagrid caused the deaths of his fellow classmates by accident, even while he was young and inexperienced, seemed plain _wrong_.

Harry was heading for the door before he even realized he'd started moving, the others calling after him in confusion.

"I'm going to ask him about it," said Harry shortly.

Their responses were of shock and didn't surprise him very much. The decision of going straight to Hagrid seemed hasty and maybe if it wasn't Sephiroth who lay in the hospital now, Harry could have ignored it a while longer. But his brother was in the hospital because of the monster, and all the evidence was pointing toward Hagrid being the one to release it fifty years ago. At the very least, Hagrid might know how to fight the monster.

"Don't be reckless," said Angeal, grabbing Harry's arm to stop him. "Riddle's memory is the only proof we have—"

"And so what?" said Harry, jerking his arm away. "If we just decide that any proof handed to us is fake, what's the point of looking for answers at all? Look, I'm skeptical, too—but this is _Sephiroth_. I need to know, and if Hagrid was the one who released the monster . . ."

"Then what?" said Hermione, making a valiant effort of staying calm.

Harry didn't know. He turned for the door, hoping his silence would be answer enough.

"Let's go, then," said Ron gruffly, shoving the door open. "We'll learn nothing standing around here. If nothing else, Hagrid's got to know _something_ about what's going on."

Ron's speedy reaction was somewhat bemusing, since Harry hadn't kept the giant spider in Riddle's memory a secret. If the spider was the monster, then Ron's worst nightmare was literally crawling through the castle as they spoke.

"Harry—"

"I'm not going to demand Hagrid spill everything," said Harry as Hermione called after him worriedly. "We'll just talk—"

"No, wait—Harry _, listen to me!_ "

Harry stopped in his tracks when Hermione yelled at him.

"What about your folks?" she asked fretfully. "They'll want to know about this. Maybe—maybe they'll even know something that could help him."

He had considered them after seeing Riddle's memory, but none of them had been able to do anything about Colin's condition. They would undoubtedly want to hear about Sephiroth, but Harry was divided between heading right away to Hagrid for answers and writing out a letter.

"It'll only take a second, and they should know," urged Hermione, as if sensing his indecision. "Hagrid's not going anywhere."

Writing them about what happened would likely end with them visiting the castle again. At the very least, if they couldn't do anything to help Sephiroth, their presence would be something of a comfort. They'd become somewhat popular with their unusual visits, from Aerith's and Zack's kindness to the quiet sort of gravity Cloud possessed that seemed to make everyone want to listen to him.

Their plan was brought to a halt by Professor McGonagall, who intercepted them halfway to Gryffindor Tower. There was a small group of Gryffindors following her, ranging from first years to older students.

"There you are," she said. "I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower. I need to address the students."

Harry cast a questioning glance at the other Gryffindors, one of whom was Lee Jordan, but none of them had any clue what was going on. All at once Harry knew it had something to do with Sephiroth, and he wished he hadn't been caught. They arrived at the Gryffindor common room and found the rest of the entire house crammed inside. Professor McGonagall pulled out a parchment and the hushed chattering died.

"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

Professor McGonagall hadn't even finished before Harry's mind was whirling up to the invisibility cloak tucked away in his trunk, by his bedside. The only way to talk to Hagrid now would be to sneak out under the cloak, lest they face the wrath of their professors.

"I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed," said Professor McGonagall, rolling up the parchment, her tone in carefully measured steadiness. "It is likely the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

Once Professor McGonagall had left and the Gryffindors' conversations started up again—there was a loud chant about tossing out the Slytherins being started—Harry turned to head up to the dormitory. The others were quick to follow, including Hermione despite Ron's grumbling about her being in the boy's dorm.

"D'you think any of them suspect Hagrid?" Ron whispered once they were in the dorm.

"I think the only one around who remembers would be Professor Dumbledore," said Harry. "He was around back when the Chamber was first opened."

"I guess you'll be getting the cloak out again, huh?" said Genesis, all too innocently. "I'm not sure there will be enough room for all of us."

"Really?" said Ron. "It's obvious you want to go. Just come out and say it."

"So do you," Genesis shot back at him. "Hermione, what about—"

"I think it's best I stay here," said Hermione. She had gained a far-off look she always had when the pieces to a complex puzzle were starting to line up in her head. "There's something I need to check—in the library. I can't believe I never thought of it before—"

"Thought of what?" said Genesis impatiently. "Stop trailing off."

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted, already twitching to leave. "I need to visit the library before I can say anything for certain."

"Wait," said Angeal as Hermione drifted toward the door. "I'll go with Hermione. There should be enough room for the three of you under the cloak, right?"

Genesis seemed to quail under the idea of Angeal leaving, but put on a good show of being unaffected.

"You still won't have the cloak to sneak around with," said Ron, but Angeal brushed the issue away with the fact he'd be able to hear anyone coming. "If that's the case, then why do we need the cloak at all?"

"Insurance," said Genesis as he gleefully wrapped himself under the Invisibility Cloak, vanishing from sight.

"We're not doing this for fun," said Harry, slightly aggravated that they were being so careless about the entire situation. He couldn't shake the image of his brother out of his head, pale and still like a marble statue, and it did nothing for his temperament.

"We're not having fun," said Angeal, giving Harry a sympathetic look. He knew Angeal was just trying to help, but sympathy wasn't what he wanted at the moment.

They wasted no time parting ways, Angeal and Hermione heading of toward the library while Harry, Genesis, and Ron stole away toward the entrance hall. With everyone corralled in their respective common rooms, it was easy to sneak around the castle without being heard. They almost ran into Professor Snape once, but Genesis heard the sweeping of long, heavy robes and they turned down another corridor just in time. Despite having the Invisibility Cloak, Harry didn't breathe easily until they were outside the castle.

A brilliant scarlet and orange sunset was painted over scattered clouds, reflected off the windows of Hagrid's house and making them look as though they were caught on fire. When they were at the front door of Hagrid's house, safely out of the castle's line of sight, they pulled off the cloak.

Harry knocked—there was a crash from inside and the door was nearly yanked off its hinges. Hagrid appeared, his crossbow greeting their faces, the sound of an arrow being nocked joined by Fang's barks.

"It's us!" yelped Harry, the arrowhead glinting dangerously at him.

"Oh," said Hagrid, hasting to set the crossbow aside. "What're you three doin' here?"

"I think more importantly," said Genesis, pointing at the crossbow, "the bloody hell were you doing with that? Trying to kill us? As if there isn't enough trying to off us all at the castle right now."

"Sorry, sorry," said Hagrid, pushing the crossbow a little farther away. "I've bin expectin'—well, it doesn' matter. Sit down—I'll make tea . . ."

Harry and Ron took a seat, while Genesis opted to flop down in front of the fireplace. Fang tried to crawl in his lap, but Genesis stopped him and settled for scratching behind his ears instead.

They watched Hagrid bumble around his house for at least five minutes, break two teapots and forget to add teabags to their mugs of hot water, and then drop the kettle in the fireplace. When he poured himself hot water, he missed the mug twice and splashed hot water over his hands. He didn't even flinch.

"Blimey," Ron whispered when Hagrid almost dropped a fruitcake.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" asked Harry worriedly. "Did you hear about—about Sephiroth?"

Hagrid almost cut off a finger when he tried to slice a piece of fruitcake.

"I heard—oh, I heard, all righ'," he said, sounding very congested. He cleared his throat repeatedly.

Harry almost felt bad for wanting to ask about anything, the way Hagrid couldn't seem to keep anything in order. He kept throwing glaces at the window, wringing his hands when he wasn't distracted by doing something, trying his best not to seem terribly nervous and failing miserably.

"We—we wanted to ask something," said Harry, faltering when Hagrid swung around to face him.

"It's about the Chamber of Secrets," said Genesis bluntly, shoving Fang away as the dog tried to climb in his lap again.

"The Chamber of—I mean, what abou' it?" said Hagrid.

Harry glanced at Ron, his resolve beginning to crumble. He pictured Sephiroth again, but he couldn't bring himself to connect Hagrid with the person who attacked his brother.

"You don't—d'you know anything about the monster?" asked Harry, trying to stay as level as possible. He didn't want to sound like he was accusing Hagrid of anything.

"Look," said Hagrid, "what yeh need to know abou' that is—"

They were interrupted by an unexpected knock at the door, making Hagrid jump so hard he almost sent all the things on his counter flying off. He motioned frantically for them to hide and they all dived for cover beneath the table, burying themselves under the Invisibility Cloak. Hagrid peered under the table once to ensure they were out of sight, before taking up his crossbow again.

"Good evening, Hagrid," said Professor Dumbledore when the door was opened. He didn't hesitate entering Hagrid's house, lacking all of his usual humor.

"What is the Minister of Magic doing here?" hissed Genesis when the next man walked in. "Cornelius Fudge—the Minister— _why_."

Harry and Ron jabbed him in the ribs to shut him up, but it only made him even more irritable.

"Bad business, Hagrid, very bad business," said Fudge, removing his bowler hat to fiddle with it. "Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things've gone far enough, the Ministry's got to act."

Genesis let out a soft scoffing noise. Harry felt the same and didn't bother elbowing him that time.

"You know I never," said Hagrid, a hair away from desperate, "I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir—"

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore. He wasn't bothering to hide his displeasure very much.

"Look, Albus. Hagrid's record's against him," said Fudge, refusing to look Dumbledore directly in the eyes. "Ministry's got to do something—the school governors have been in touch—"

Harry didn't know much about the school governors, but Genesis muttered something about airbags and fizzing whizbees.

Neither of the two men would back down, while Hagrid sat and looked resolute. Hagrid had Dumbledore's complete trust, but nothing he said seemed to break through to the Minister. From what Harry could understand, it was for Fudge's public image.

" . . . But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty—"

"Take me?" Hagrid interrupted, his hands tightly clasped in an attempted to stop them shaking. "Take me where?"

"For a stretch only—"

"They _wouldn't,_ " said Genesis, snarling quietly at Ron when he was elbowed again.

"Wouldn't what?" said Harry, trying his best to panic quietly.

"Azkaban," said Genesis at the same time as Hagrid, his voice full of anger while Hagrid's was hoarse with fear.

There was another knock at the door and they went utterly still, not even daring to breathe. If too many more people came into Hagrid's house, it was going to get very cramped. Harry was glad Hagrid had the foresight to sit at the only chair by the table, as they were hiding under it.

When Dumbledore opened the door, Lucius Malfoy was standing in the doorway. Neither of them could find words for how shocked they were, Harry couldn't think of the slightest reason for Mr. Malfoy to visit Hagrid, or Hogwarts in general. Draco was perfectly fine, and while Sephiroth was friends with him, Harry wasn't nearly delusional enough to think that was reason enough for Mr. Malfoy to come.

"Already here, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy, nodding to all three adults. "Good, good . . ."

"What're you doin' here?" snapped Hagrid, the fear bleeding out of his large form as he stood up. "Get outta my house!"

"My dear man," said Mr. Malfoy, sickly sweet in its sincerity, "please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your—er—d'you call this a house?"

"That _bastard_ ," said Genesis.

Harry agreed, but he also didn't trust Mr. Malfoy to be as deaf as Dumbledore or Fudge, so he gave Genesis a particularly hard jab.

"I simply called at the school and was told the headmaster was here," said Mr. Malfoy, his languid smile not reaching his flinty gray eyes, as his stare rested on Dumbledore.

Something cold settled into Harry's stomach.

"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" asked Dumbledore, the picture of serenity. It was the kind of serenity that settled over the sky right before lightning struck.

"Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy, pulling a roll of parchment from his black traveling cloak. He unrolled it gracefully. "The governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension—you'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? My own son's good friend was attacked this morning, wasn't it?"

Harry's growl almost matched Fang's, glaring furiously at Malfoy from under the cloak. White-hot fires of indignation burned in Harry's veins. Malfoy had heard Sephiroth was attacked and saw an _opportunity_. He dared to use Sephiroth's condition to try and have Dumbledore sacked, even bringing up his friendship with Draco. Harry didn't know what Draco told his father about Sephiroth, but whatever it was needed to stop.

"At this rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts," Malfoy went on, "and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school. Moreover, we've found his employment of Gilderoy Lockhart to be, shall we say, a blaring misstep."

Ron whispered for Harry to be careful, as he'd been nearly radiating pure rage. He should have known Lucius Malfoy wouldn't decide to act on Gilderoy Lockhart until it was in his own benefit.

They weren't the only ones horrified by the idea of Dumbledore leaving the castle. Fudge was rapidly glancing between Malfoy and Dumbledore, stammering over himself clumsily, "Oh, now see here, Lucius. Dumbledore suspended—no, no—last thing we want just now."

"The appointment—or suspension—of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," said Malfoy, throwing Fudge a look of the utmost courtesy. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks—"

"See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop them—I mean to say, who can?"

Fudge was clearly regretting many life decisions at the moment, and Harry didn't feel sorry for him in the slightest.

"That remains to be seen," said Malfoy silkily, "but as all twelve of us have voted—"

"An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" Hagrid bellowed.

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid," said Malfoy, looking very unworried by Hagrid's outburst, while Fudge edged away. "I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" Hagrid thundered. "Take him away, an' the Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!"

Fang, growing nervous from Hagrid's raised tones, slinked off behind the table Harry, Genesis, and Ron were hiding under. He nearly knocked them over when he tried to hide under the table with them.

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore before Hagrid could go on. "If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside—"

Fudge and Hagrid both looked horrified by the prospect.

"But—" Fudge spluttered out.

"No!" yelled Hagrid.

"However," said Dumbledore—Harry flinched when pale blue eyes met his own for a split-second—and managing to draw all their attention at the same time, "you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. . . . Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

"Admirable sentiments," said Malfoy, sweeping into a shallow bow. "We shall all miss your—er—highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope your successor will manage to prevent any—ah—killins."

With that said, Malfoy opened the door and gave another bow as Dumbledore left, calm and poised as ever. Fudge hesitated behind Hagrid, who cast a quick look around his house.

"If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff," he said ambiguously, ignoring the truly baffled stares of Malfoy and Fudge, "all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That'd lead 'em right. That's all I'm sayin'."

Hagrid made a show of pulling on his giant moleskin coat, heading toward the door with Fudge close behind, only to stop again right before he left.

"An' someone'll need ter feed Fang while I'm away."

He slammed the door shut once Fudge vacated, leaving Harry, Genesis, and Ron sitting in complete, horrified silence. Genesis yanked the Invisibility Cloak off, stormed to the window and peered through the curtains, swearing profusely.

"That despicable, slimy, son of a—"

"We're in trouble now," Ron moaned. "No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There'll be an attack a day with him gone."

They jumped as Fang launched himself at the door, barking and howling.

"What now?" said Genesis, cooling down enough to ask sensible questions. "Dumbledore's gone, Draco's father is troll spit, and Hagrid is being escorted to Azkaban. We learned absolutely nothing."

"Thanks for summing that up," said Harry, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm out of his tone. Before Genesis could jump into another tirade, he added, "We should do what Hagrid said."

"What?" Ron squeaked. "That was probably—joking. Metaphorical. Anything but literal."

Harry and Genesis ignored Ron's adamant protests, pulling on the Invisibility Cloak again and leaving through the back door to be safe. They scanned the grounds outside Hagrid's house for spiders, but it was around that moment Harry realized it had been ages since he last saw one of the streams of hastily fleeing spiders. They didn't spot a single spider, no matter how long or hard they searched.

Night had fallen by the time they trekked back up to the castle, their breath fogging in the chilled air. The moon cast a silver glow on the grounds, far too bright and full for how desolate they felt. They made their way to Gryffindor Tower through the darkened corridors, running into Hermione and Angeal in the common room.

Harry filled them in on everything that happened, Hermione's and Angeal's faces both paling in synchronicity, and Hermione gasped out loud when she heard Dumbledore had been suspended.

"Did you at least learn anything in the library?" said Genesis, throwing himself onto the sofa by the fireplace, which was already put out. His foul mood hadn't passed, only growing even worse when they failed to find spiders to follow. "Anything useful?"

Hermione's face turned furious and Harry knew something had gone wrong.

"No, we learned _nothing_ ," she said. "Absolutely nothing! All the books I was looking for are already checked out—every single one of them! I don't even know how that's _possible_ , no one should even be looking for those books, they're not very popular and I can't see anyone else having already connected the dots, they're barely visible at best—"

" _Hermione_ ," said Genesis, cutting across her rambling. "So you didn't find anything, either?"

"Nothing," said Hermione in disappointment, shaking her head.

"Well—what did you have in mind?" asked Ron. "What were you trying to find?"

"Snakes," said Hermione, turning to Harry. "I already explained to Angeal in the library, but whatever it is, only you and—and Sephiroth can hear it." Her voice faltered as she said Sephiroth's name, but she forged on, "You're both parselmouths, only you can hear snakes. So, it makes sense that—"

"The monster is some kind of snake," said Harry slowly, as realization dawned on him. "Hermione—that's brilliant! And that means whatever killed those students fifty years ago—it couldn't have been Hagrid's spider!"

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Which leaves us wondering _what_. It's a snake and it Petrifies its victims."

"It can also move through the castle undetected," said Genesis. "Fast enough to take Sephiroth off guard."

The thought chilled Harry to the bone. He knew Sephiroth was faster and stronger than normal, but even more keen were his senses, all five of them heightened far more than any average human. He should have been able to hear the monster coming fast enough to fight it, or run away—or _anything_.

"It wasn't normal, though," said Ron. "His Petrification, I mean. You saw it . . . his eyes, they were . . ."

He trailed off uncomfortably.

"Oh, I hope the Mandrakes are ready for harvesting soon," said Hermione, wringing her hands. "It's likely we won't know anything concrete until they're cured . . ."

Harry wanted to stay up the entire night, staring into the fireplace and chasing his thoughts in circles, but the others would have none of it. They tried to bid Hermione goodnight, but she was so distracted by trying to unravel the mystery of the Chamber's monster she replied with "Thank you," before wandering up to the girls' dormitory. They had hardly stepped into their dorm when Neville rushed up to them, pale-faced and frantic.

"I don't know who did it," he said. "They—they—well, _look._ "

Just when Harry was certain the day couldn't possibly throw anything else at them, he saw the state of his bed and trunk. His trunk had been torn open, clothing strewn across the floor, his pockets all turned out. He unconsciously reached for his Invisibility Cloak, glad he hadn't left it in the trunk, or whoever had searched through his belongings might have stolen it.

Harry, afraid anything was missing, quickly piled all his clothes back in the trunk and checked through his books. He stopped himself chanting under his breath for Riddle's diary to still be in place, settling for thinking "Please don't be gone," over and over. He had no such luck, the diary's absence blaring and obvious. After pawing through his trunk and under his bed for the fifth time, Harry sat back and resigned himself to having lost the diary.

"It's gone," he murmured to Genesis when he knelt by the bed as well, leaning in to hear Harry's hushed words. "Riddle's diary. It was taken."

"Harry?" said Neville nervously. His complexion had been pasty since he heard about Sephiroth and the raid on Harry's belongings frightened him even more.

"It's fine, Neville," said Harry heavily, trying not to sound crushingly disappointed. "Everything's as it should be."

"I can't believe this," said Seamus furiously. "First your brother—now your stuff? Someone's out to get you, mate."

"We were all talking," said Dean, sitting back on his bed. There was a deeply contemplative look on his face. "Whoever did this—they had to be Gryffindor. Only a Gryffindor would know our password."

"But . . . that means—" Angeal hesitated, remembering they were in the dormitory and Seamus, Dean, and Neville knew nothing about the things they'd discovered. "Whoever broke in here must've thought . . . thought you had something valuable on hand."

"Oh, did you?" said Seamus. "Might want to check again."

But Harry knew what Angeal was trying to tell him. Whoever had gone through his things, littering the dorm room in their haste, had known Harry was in possession of the diary. If they were so rushed to get a hold of the diary, they also knew about the secrets it held. The thief might even have more information about the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir than Harry did, and were trying to keep the truth hidden. Unless Harry was sorely mistaken, that also meant there was far more to the story than Hagrid being wrongly arrested for attacking students fifty years ago.

None of them went to sleep immediately, staying up until the night was old and they were half-delirious with exhaustion. Even after everyone else finally nodded off, Harry was left tossing back and forth, trying to fit together pieces of information. Whenever he felt he could finally slip off into slumber he'd remember Sephiroth, picture him up in the hospital wing, with nothing but midnight silence and the other Petrified students to keep him company. It didn't make for a pleasant sleep and Harry was suffering for it the next morning.

There was a commotion in the Great Hall when Harry climbed down Gryffindor Tower, rubbing his bleary and sleep-deprived eyes. Professor Snape stood by the doors to the entrance hall, swathed in his usual black robes, his scowl slightly more irritated than usual. He was quickly joined by Professor McGonagall, who had a small gaggle of students following her.

"Absolutely not," Professor Snape was saying. "The castle's not accepting visitors. Doesn't accept them normally, but this isn't a normal time. We can't make exceptions—"

He was trying to slam the door shut and having a hard time of it. There was one gloved hand keeping it opened.

"If you would please—" Professor McGonagall started, but she was cut off.

"Oh yes, because the castle is that much better off without us," snarled a heavily sarcastic, familiar voice. There was a note of urgency in his voice as he added, "Just let us _in_ , we've never been in the way before!"

Harry took several large strides to the other side of the entrance hall. From that angle, he could see Zack, dark hair framing his piercing blue eyes, stormier than he'd ever seen them. He could hear Aerith's higher trill behind him and Cloud's lower, mumbled tones.

Zack spotted Harry through the opening and almost had his fingers slammed in the door when he tried to wave.

"Oh, stop—just stop," said Professor McGonagall, dangerously close to frayed. She had put up a brave front, but clearly Dumbledore's suspension had shocked her deeply. "Let them in. The only time they were around for an attack to take place they were all accounted for."

Professor Snape, looking as though he'd swallowed a lemon, reluctantly released the door. He was forced to jump back to avoid being swiped aside when Zack dove through the doors, closely followed by Cloud and Aerith. He made a beeline for Harry, crushed him in a hug that knocked all the breath from Harry's lungs, and pulled back to examine him.

"You're all good?" he said, shaking Harry's shoulders and tugging his arms. "Nothing's broken? No unusual pains, weird voices—"

"I'm fine," said Harry, smiling despite himself.

Zack grinned in full force, ruffling Harry's hair fondly.

"That's always good to hear," he said. "Now—where's your brother?"

Harry's smile fell instantly. Heavyhearted, he explained everything that had happened at Hogwarts, including Hagrid being taken to Azkaban prison (whatever that place was) and Dumbledore's suspension. When he told them Sephiroth was Petrified, or sort of half-Petrified, they all went tense.

"Half? Only half? What do you mean?" asked Zack.

"I don't know," Harry said bitterly. "No one does. And his eyes . . ."

"What about them?" said Aerith.

"They're bleeding," Harry explained. He realized that sounded terrible but, for the life of him, he couldn't think of a way to make it any less severe—it was that horrible.

"Let's go," said Cloud, his hand reaching up to adjust the truly ginormous blade on his back that Harry only now noticed. It was one of the blades that resembled a slab of metal, at least double Harry's size in width and taller than him. The only difference was that there were dozens of pieces keeping it together, as though the blade could be taken apart into smaller pieces.

"They're not letting visitors into the Hospital Wing anymore," said Harry. When he noticed Hermione, Angeal, Genesis, and Ron had ventured into the entrance hall he added, "Morning."

"Morning, Harry—oh!" Hermione's eyes brightened when she saw Aerith, Cloud, and Zack. "You're here!"

"We were just heading to the hospital," said Aerith, giving them warm smiles.

"No one's allowed," said Ron sourly.

"That's what we heard," said Zack, cracking his knuckles. "I'd like to see 'em stop us."

Their confidence was bolstered by Zack's statement, but they ended up running into no arguments from Madam Pomfrey upon their arrival at the hospital. She saw them standing expectantly and sighed, opening the door a little further, just enough to let them slip inside.

"We're trying not to take any chances," she said quietly, as if afraid any loud noises would unsettle the Petrified students. "There's every chance the attacker might come back to finish them off . . ."

"That's understandable," said Aerith sympathetically. She crossed the room straight to Sephiroth's cot, breathing a soft "Oh."

It had only been a day since Harry last saw his brother, but it felt like an eternity. Their separation, violent and unexpected as it was, after hardly ever being apart in the past was difficult to overcome. Part of Harry wanted to curl up on the cot and sleep the day away, as they would back in the Dursleys after being locked up for one thing or another.

The flow of blood hadn't ceased, though it had slowed into a sluggish stream, turning the skin around Sephiroth's eyes a rusty color. There were faded, stained tear tracks down his face.

"I haven't been able to tell what's causing it," said Madam Pomfrey regretfully. "I'm prepping him to be moved to St. Mungo's this afternoon."

"To what?" said Cloud, his blue eyes fixing on Madam Pomfrey, appearing unsettled by the talk of Sephiroth being moved anywhere.

"Magical hospital," Madam Pomfrey explained promptly. "They've got resources and expertise that I haven't. They can perform an Asclepiun Field—"

"A what?" said Zack, tearing his eyes from Sephiroth's unmoving form.

"It's not an easy thing to explain," said Madam Pomfrey. "The closest would be the magical variant of Muggle surgery. It's a way of seeing and changing under the skin without having to break skin. It's a highly skill-intensive technique, beyond what I'm capable of . . ."

"If you don't have to move him to another hospital, I'd rather you didn't," said Cloud, strong undertones of _don't move him anywhere even if you think you have to_ going unsaid but definitely heard.

Aerith held her hands over Sephiroth's face, a soft green glow visible, Madam Pomfrey looming over her shoulder. Harry didn't have to ask to know Aerith was searching for something, and whatever she found put a crinkle in her forehead, a forbearing sort of sadness in her eyes.

"He's at another crossroads," she murmured.

That sounded very familiar and it only took a couple seconds of thinking back for Harry to connect it with last year. Or, more accurately, with what happened in the chamber holding the Mirror of Erised. Sephiroth had said Aerith called it a crossroads, some kind of twisted test that he apparently passed. Harry never held anything that went down against Sephiroth, he'd blamed himself before that happened. But if Sephiroth had run into another "crossroads," it made Harry sick to his stomach thinking of what he could be facing.

"He's got extensive retinal damage," said Aerith, pulling her hands away from his head, "but nothing irreversible. Once he wakes up, the damage will heal up good as new."

 _He's probably blind, but it's okay—he'll get better_ was all Harry heard. He didn't care if the damage would heal up, the fact there was damage at all wasn't alright.

"Well, it's a good thing you wrote them anyway," said Hermione, trying her hardest to sound upbeat despite the gnawing concern they were all experiencing.

Harry froze.

"I didn't," he said. "I didn't write them."

They exchanged alarmed and bewildered looks, their faces all reflecting the same question.

How had Cloud, Zack, and Aerith known to come?

* * *

 **A/N: Okay so I may have kind of sort of implied Sephiroth is blind... All I can do is promise there's a damn good reason! And that it's not permanent. Aerith said that.**

 **Guest: "However if Harry still had the diary how did Tom manage to possess Ginny when she didn't have the diary?" This will be explained, although not for some time! And I just had to have Sephiroth petrified... although there's actually a reason for that, too, other than me being sadistic.**

 **Guest: "** **But he didn't die? His superhuman abilities? I just want them all safe and happy." Yep! Sephiroth's body is obviously stronger than most humans, so I didn't see the Basilisk's stare outright killing him. And I want to see them safe and happy, too. T_T Except it's my duty as authoress to make their lives miserable. I mean make them stronger. That's what I meant.**

 **Jaron: I know... it's like all main characters have an irresistible urge to follow certain death. Me? I hear a weird noise and I'm breaking speed records getting the flying fuck outta there! Take it easy, sicknesses aren't anything to mess around with! (Take it from someone who knows). And being woken at 2AM to the One-Winged Angel theme is the best (and most terrifying) way to wake up.**

 **Toby: Yeah, poor Seph isn't catching a break... And I'm pretty sure Genesis thinks all Slytherins huddle around and think up crappy puns and insults (Genesis is a hypocrite). I'm a Slytherin and all I do is try and think of the best way to slip out anything that requires hard work.**

 **Thanks for all your favorites, follows, and reviews! Until next week! :D**


	21. Chapter 21

21

Sephiroth was certain he was dead. At least, he was supposed to be dead, the baleful yellow-eyed stare of the Chamber's monster permanently etched into his mind. The final slam of a judge's gavel, a dying man's last rasp of breath, it was a blare of golden he couldn't escape. Sephiroth wasn't supposed to be alive.

Given how he couldn't remember how he died last or what it felt like, he wasn't sure if death was supposed to feel like that. It was confusing and not at all pleasant, not that Sephiroth had expected death to be a pleasant thing. He didn't fade from the world of the living and there was no tunneling of his vision. He didn't even hear his heartbeat slowing in his chest. Nothing he expected to experience in his final moments of life, admittedly sooner than expected, happened.

He was plunged into a world of memories, both known and foreign, new and old—good and bad.

There was a glimpse of a blond boy—or maybe a full grown man, he couldn't tell through a blurred haze—staring down at him, pale-faced. He was caught in grief or rage, perhaps even both, calling something over and over. Sephiroth didn't hear what he said before the memory was snatched away, lost in a torrent of other images, flashes of memories.

He couldn't cling onto a memory long enough to view the entire thing, forever falling down, down, among a fractured playlist of memories his subconscious threw at him. The harder he tried to hang on, the more of them slipped away, the faster they disappeared, until even the memories he knew—of Hogwarts, of his friends and Cloud, Zack, and Aerith—were sliding right passed him.

For a terrifying moment, Sephiroth thought he might forget everything. That he wouldn't be able to recall Harry's face, or how his voice sounded, the grounds at Hogwarts and even Hagrid's inedible rock cakes. Seconds past by, or it could have been a full eternity, and Sephiroth stubbornly clung to the memory of his brother and everything else that was important to him. He held on until he realized the memories hadn't and weren't going to fade.

That was when his surroundings started to bleed with color, turning into a wide azure sky and a forest of towering evergreens. He still felt muddled by a plethora of images and emotions that weren't his own, akin to reading words off the pages of a book. He was distracted from any deeper thoughts by the babbling of a nearby brook.

He lay on his back on a bed of pine needles, in that sanctuary-like place Aerith always told him about. The forest had grown and there were heavy clouds crawling across the sky, blotting out the sunlight. Little had changed, aside from the flowing water he heard. He didn't remember there being water last time.

"You would be surprised by how frequently things change here."

Sephiroth shot to his feet, launching a good dozen meters away before he'd even gotten a good look at the newcomer. It definitely wasn't Aerith.

The man was tall, grand in every way Sephiroth felt he wasn't, lounging against one of the trees. His hair was long and silver, green eyes didn't so much stare _at_ Sephiroth as they looked straight _through_ him, smirking as though he knew a secret and wasn't going to tell, just to be infuriating. He was all black leather and carefully poised, so Sephiroth didn't believe for a second he was actually as relaxed as he looked.

It was as though Sephiroth was looking at himself, only warped and different. And not necessarily in a good way.

"Who are you?" asked Sephiroth, glancing around in hopes of catching sight of Aerith. There wasn't even the faintest hint of pink to be seen.

"That you would even voice such a question means you've already failed," said the man, climbing to his feet languidly. "I shouldn't have expected anything else, miserable and weak as you are."

Sephiroth drew in a breath to protest loudly, deeply offended, but it turned into a startled gasp as the man dissolved into shadows, scattering to nothingness. The forest was once again deserted, barring Sephiroth, hardly a lonesome breeze to rustle the pine needles.

When a minute had passed and nothing else moved, Sephiroth took an experimental step forward. Somehow, he couldn't shake the suspicion that man was incredibly dangerous. He was half expecting an attack from nowhere, only this world didn't act like the real one. Noises seemed to be more muffled than usual, the heavy clouds making the forest dim and dreary. He headed toward the rushing flow of water, coming across a narrow brook, and followed it downstream.

Usually he was pulled here by Aerith, or because something shocking had happened and he needed a moment to recuperate. If anything warranted a trip to his inner sanctuary, he supposed it was Slytherin's monster attacking him. Except he was calmer now and the odd, unwelcomed flood of memories had stopped. And Aerith still wasn't appearing, which bothered him more than anything else. Something could have been blocking her and the only thing conspicuously different was that man—if he had something to do with the reason Aerith hadn't showed up, Sephiroth wasn't going to hesitate grilling him for answers.

Stuck as he was, he figured that meant his body was in a coma of some kind, or simply Petrified. Unless it was walking around in a sort of dazed, zombie-like state. He got a fleeting mental image of himself walking over and over again into the same wall and hoped desperately he was wrong.

The small river eventually fed into a large pond, reflected black against the darkened canopy. Pure white lotus flowers were stark against the surface, blooming in full the moment Sephiroth stepped near the pond. It was a quiet, peaceful scene and definitely hadn't been there the last time Sephiroth visited. He knelt by one of the flowers, reaching to poke at the petals gently, wondering what else had changed.

As soon as his finger touched the petal, he yanked back as the water erupted into flames. He had taken two whole steps away from the pond before he realized the water hadn't really burst into fire, but was reflected with the image of a burning town. Sephiroth had seen that burning town before, in dreams and nightmares, and he knew how it was going to end. He looked away before the bodies started piling up, hands bursting through the soil to drag him into darkness.

He couldn't bring himself to watch. He knew all too well it involved his past and he wanted nothing to do with it. Everything about it was so foreign and distant, but sickeningly nostalgic. Sephiroth thought if he stared long enough he might start remembering, and that scared him more than anything else.

"Given enough time in isolation," came the voice of Sephiroth's older double, melting out of the shadows, "even the greatest man will become a monster. Wouldn't you agree?"

"What did you do?" Sephiroth demanded, pointing to the pond and telling himself firmly that his hand wasn't shaking. "This place is supposed to be _peaceful_. How is this peaceful?!"

"Oh, what _did_ I do?" It was a rhetorical question if there ever was one. Genesis would have been jealous by the amount of silky condensation hidden under flawless innocence. The man prowled forward, the air turning chilly as he moved closer. "The mind is truly exquisite—malleable and changeable. Plant the smallest seed and it will take root, fester. A parasite becoming the host."

Sephiroth understood less than half of the words coming from the man's mouth, but he knew a threat when he heard one.

"So, you're a . . . plant?" he said, grasping for the parts that made sense—sort of. The man didn't resemble a plant. Of course, he was a figment in his own mental world, so he could have been some sort of plant creature who resembled a human. Sephiroth stamped out his train of thought before it could turn into an uncontrollable avalanche.

The expression on the man's face reminded Sephiroth of the few times Professor Snape tried to reason with one of his worst students' potions. He found the potion he viewed utterly hopeless. In this case, it wasn't a potion—it was Sephiroth.

Instead of sneering or drawling a venomous insult, the man broke into throaty chuckles. It was rusty and unnatural, and Sephiroth didn't believe he was really amused for a second.

"What?" said Sephiroth defensively, edging away from the man. It brought his heel to the pond, the image of fire and tumbling houses playing across the ripples. An icy sprawl crept over the water's surface, crackling softy and sealing up the flames under a thick barrier of white. Sephiroth could still see the hot glow of flames through the ice, but the nightmare was no longer entirely visible.

"Are you thinking clearly now?" asked the man.

"Did you do that?" said Sephiroth, forcing himself to look away from the frozen pond.

"Did I?"

Sephiroth hardly had time to react, throwing himself back onto the iced-over pond to avoid losing his head. The keening song of a blade followed him and Sephiroth met Masamune for the second time, only he wasn't the one holding the weapon. The man hadn't even moved, Masamune materializing in his hand—a lazy flick sent Sephiroth scrambling to save himself from dismemberment.

His feet periodically slipped on the ice, prompting him to make a dash for solid ground—the crack was a clap of thunder in his ears, bringing him to an abrupt halt. Hairline fractures, like a spider's web, branched out from under his feet. Under the ice, the hellfire of a nightmare blazed.

"Careful," said the man. His amusement was all too genuine now. "That seal is breaking little by little. And look where you're standing."

Sephiroth didn't need to be reminded, his mind tugged in about a thousand different directions. The man circled around the pond as if Sephiroth was his prey. He was unsure if he should panic more over the breaking ice and lifetime of possibly traumatizing memories under it, or the gleaming blade that could slice him to pieces at any moment.

"It's a seal?" said Sephiroth. "The ice—it's keeping the memories away?"

"Did I say that?" said the man evenly, so Sephiroth couldn't tell if it was another rhetorical question, or if he was being sarcastic.

"Does that mean the pond is my memories?" asked Sephiroth, risking another step. The groaning of the ice made him flinch.

"Does it?"

The line of questions, answered by another teasing, possibly serious and possibly not serious question, was absolutely infuriating—Sephiroth barely contained a yelp when Masamune cut through the air in front of him. A flash of silver and the man landed on the ice, towering over Sephiroth.

He abandoned all care and dove for the edge of the pond, reaching solid ground without breaking through the ice by some miracle. He wasn't given time to breathe as the man—some kind of evil double his mind had cooked up and he wished he could have words with his mind, but that seemed too much like talking to himself for his tastes—followed him. He crossed the icy pond without leaving so much as an extra fracture, which was so _utterly unfair._ Sephiroth was lighter than him and still managed to inflict the damage of a charging bull.

"I wonder how long you can keep dodging," said the man, cutting through a tree in an attempt to impale Sephiroth. The tree crashed to the ground, soon joined by several more. Instead of moving around them, the man seemed content to raze the forest to the ground. "You don't need food or water here, so we can do this for a long time indeed. . . . Unless you're finally ready to stop playing games."

"You seem to like playing _games_ ," said Sephiroth irritably.

"Playing innocent?" said the man. "Now that _is_ a game. Why not go ahead and do it, though? Masamune is yours to use."

Sephiroth was actually fairly sure Masamune was in his double's hands, out of his reach and ability to use. Even on the offhand chance he could summon the blade, he didn't think his concentration level was nearly steady enough to pull it off. And if he did summon Masamune—what then? Last time he used the blade, it hadn't even been his own victory. . . .

"You," said Sephiroth, breathless. " _You_ possessed me last year. You're the reason I couldn't move on my own or—or stop."

The laughter resounding through the forest, seeming to surround Sephiroth, wasn't a confirmation or a denial. He didn't really need any other answer, the pieces lining themselves up and they made perfect sense. From his nightmares to the occasional migraines—he had assumed it had something to do with Voldemort being on the back of Professor Quirrel's head, and then Slytherin's monster stalking the halls. It had been that man playing games in the back of his mind.

" _Found you_ ," said Sephiroth's double a second before he drove Masamune through Sephiroth's spine and out his stomach.

He went blank, gaping breathlessly, his heart giving a painful lurch. Masamune's gleaming blade was stained red again, but this time it was Sephiroth's own blood. His lungs burned and he strained to breathe, choking—drowning in his own blood.

"Familiar?" said his other.

In the blink of an eye, the world warping around him, they stood before the pond again. The ice had melted, the burning village gone, leaving only a dark, glassy surface. Sephiroth could see himself reflected in the pond and it felt like a passive sort of revenge. His double stood above him, Masamune lodged in Sephiroth's stomach and the wound bleeding out.

There was something familiar about it and if he hadn't been struggling to pull in a full breath, he might have taken the appropriate amount of time to panic. He was more concerned over the fact he coughed and blood trickled out the corner of his mouth.

Faster than it happened, it ended.

As though running from his double's attempts to kill him were nothing more than an illusion, Sephiroth was back on the pond. He had fallen on his hands and knees, gasping for breath and pawing at his stomach, looking for a gaping hole in his body. There was nothing but the creaking of ice under his hand, fractures spreading even farther outward. It was more fragile than ever, the slightest move sure to plunge him into the depths below.

He didn't know if it was real or not, if it was a trick of the mind. Perhaps the man had completely taken over his mind and was tormenting him. Either that, or he really was back at square one. He wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing.

"Attachments are curious," said the man, Masamune nowhere in sight. He ambled along the shore, long silver hair swishing by his knees, his hands clasped behind his back. "The attachment of one's friends. Of family. Of a brother."

Sephiroth flinched despite himself, causing water to seep through the cracks and chill his hands to the bone. Danger screamed in his veins when his brother was mentioned. Harry wasn't called out by name, but Sephiroth wasn't about to think it wasn't coincidental.

"They are a source of strength to some," said Sephiroth's double, "and weakness to others. There is joy when attachments are near. And when they are taken, the grief is . . . palpable."

 _A threat_.

"If you even so much as _think—_ " Sephiroth snarled, going to stand—the ice shattered.

There was no moment of weightlessness, the world didn't slow to allow Sephiroth to analyze the smirk that crawled across his counterpart's face. He plunged into potent darkness, swallowed up by it. He was so cold he was sure he'd never feel warm again.

He waited for a tsunami of memories to engulf him, only to be left suspended in nothingness. It was only after he dared move, reach a hand out into the oppressive, stifling darkness, that he realized he was no longer in his mental world. Entering and leaving had been fairly seamless in the past, but he hadn't even known he'd left that time around. There had only been himself falling, the fathomless darkness, and the fear of learning secrets he felt were better left unknown.

Whether it was coincidental or not, he'd woken up just in time. He didn't know what he intended to try and do to his counterpart—punch him, strangle him, or try cursing him—but he'd rather be awake. He would also have to talk about Aerith about his so-called sanctuary. Last he knew, sanctuaries were supposed to be peaceful and evil twins were far from peaceful.

Sephiroth reached out, the sheets coarse on his skin, feeling around for his wand. It was night, probably a cloudy and moonless one, going off the pitch-blackness. He didn't remember the moon phase when he'd last been awake, but he was knew it wasn't a new moon.

"How long was I asleep?" he said to no one in particular.

There was a shriek and a clatter, the sound of glass shattering on the floor. A rustle of the curtain being torn aside alerted him to Madam Pomfrey approaching, hands pawing at his face and eyes. Next thing he knew, she was mumbling spells, undoubtedly waving her wand around like a crazy-woman, leaving him with one very important question.

"Madam Pomfrey, why haven't you got a candle burning?"

Her voice faltered and there was no reply. Sephiroth, undeterred, moved on to the next—much more important—topic. The one that could possibly save the school from suffering the loss of another student.

"I saw the monster," he said quickly. "It had these eyes—yellow eyes—you can't look at them, I think. I looked at them and everything kind went . . ."

Insane. Everything went insane, but Sephiroth wasn't about to explain his inner world and evil counterpart to Madam Pomfrey. That was for Aerith to explain, when he wrote her.

"Well, the point is that it's some kind of snake," he said. "And it moves _fast_. I think it's also got some way of moving through the walls. Hagrid might know what to do—you should call him up to the castle. He might even know what it is . . ."

He hesitated. Madam Pomfrey hadn't said a word.

"Madam . . .?"

"Hagrid—Hagrid isn't here at the moment," she finally said, her voice hoarse.

"He's not?" said Sephiroth, sitting up and ignoring her when she told him to lay back down. "What happened? Is he hurt? Was he attacked, too?"

He fell unconscious once and everything changed. He really wanted to know how long he was out and what happened—knowing Hogwarts as he did, it was nothing good. Hagrid being attacked by a monster, taken down even, seemed impossible. There was nothing Hagrid loved more than magical creatures and he knew everything there was to know about them. Surely he'd have been able to protect himself.

"Professor Dumbledore, then—"

"Sephiroth," Madam Pomfrey cut him off sharply. "Not now. You're in the hospital. Do you have the slightest clue how long you've been?"

Sephiroth wracked his mind for a sense of time, but came up with nothing. Everything seemed to happen within minutes.

"You've been Petrified for nearly nine weeks," said Madam Pomfrey, followed by a snap of fabric being shaken out and the thump of a cup being set on the bedside table. Then something was being shoved into his hands—a cup—and she was telling him to drink up, it was going to be a long while healing.

"Healing?" he said in bewilderment, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

"Your eyes," said Madam Pomfrey, pausing. When she continued, her voice was softer, "There was a significant damage done to them by the monster—whatever it is. Nothing irreversible," she added quickly, "but it'll take a while to heal."

"My eyes?" said Sephiroth, surprising himself by how calm he sounded. He couldn't detach himself from the idea the room was only blanketed in the darkness of night. Or that all the shudders were closed and no one lit a candle.

"Yes."

Hands pushed the cup toward his mouth, urging him to drink.

"You'll need this to heal, Sephiroth."

"So—so," Sephiroth swallowed, willing himself to _stay_ calm. "So if you light a candle . . ."

The silent that fell was heavy, staunching him.

"It's midday," said Madam Pomfrey, her hand resting on his shoulder. There was another rustle of curtains and a beam of warmth settled on his shoulder. "Around two o'clock. Your brother and friends are in class."

It wasn't permanent. He latched onto that fact, repeated it over and over in his head. It was alright, because it would soon be over and he would be healed. He'd be able to see again just fine. He could get through it—there would be no finishing his homework and that had to be piling up, but he was certain someone could help him with it. They'd help him—Madam Pomfrey's hand left his shoulder.

Panicking was foolish but he did it anyway. He could hear her heartbeat, knew exactly where she was, and somehow that only made it worse. Sephiroth's hearing was good, but he'd never really payed it that much attention. Now he couldn't stop hearing her heartbeat, his own heartbeat, and there was nothing comforting about it.

The doors to the hospital were pushed open and hurried footsteps approached, followed by the scent of lilies and plum trees.

"You're awake!" said Aerith, her relief palpable. She wasted no time crushing him in a hug, which he latched on to with more desperation than he intended.

"You're already here?" said Sephiroth in confusion, blinking his eyes repeatedly. It didn't make the world any less nonexistent.

"Already," she laughed. "We've been here the entire time you were unconscious. Apparently you couldn't hear us. . . . Fred and George will be disappointed, they made a huge effort to make noise."

Madam Pomfrey audibly gritted her teeth. Sephiroth could imagine fury rolling off her in waves.

"Students aren't allowed to visit anymore," said Aerith in explanation. "They sneaked in and caused quite the ruckus."

That almost brought a smile to Sephiroth's face. Almost.

He could hear the smile in Aerith's voice, but couldn't see it. The warmth of the sun seeped into his shoulder after that long fall through the darkness. He couldn't see that, either. _It was only temporary_. He couldn't see who walked through the door next. _It would be fixed soon_. Whoever came in had a heavy footfall, but that could have been any number of people.

He didn't really care how soon it was fixed. _He couldn't see anything_.

Sephiroth only started hearing what everyone was saying around him when Harry was mentioned. The one who entered was Cloud, keeping a gloved hand on Sephiroth's shoulder the entire time, as if to reassure Sephiroth he hadn't left.

"I'll be right back," said Cloud, squeezing Sephiroth's shoulder. "I'm getting your brother."

The protest rising in Sephiroth's throat abruptly cut off, and he nodded quickly. When the warmth of Cloud's hand had long faded from his shoulder, Aerith sitting by his side, he brought a hand to his eyes. There was no rubbing away what was wrong, he knew that, but it didn't stop him trying.

"We've been looking for the monster," said Aerith, idly pulling his hair out of his face and tying it back—probably with the black ribbon she got him for Christmas. "It stopped after you. No one else was attacked."

"What about Hagrid?" said Sephiroth. "He's not here right now? Where is he?"

Aerith's hand paused tying off the ribbon and Sephiroth braced himself for the bad news. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was told.

"He was arrested," she said quietly. Before he could get a word edgewise, she added, "He was falsely accused. We're sure of it, we just don't have any concrete evidence."

"What about Professor Dumbledore?" said Sephiroth, unable to stay calm any longer. "Did he just let Hagrid be taken away? Why would they think Hagrid attacked anyone, anyway? It's _Hagrid_ and he's—he's . . ."

Always been there, from the very beginning. Sephiroth wanted to believe the day could not get any worse, but he knew from experience that was asking for misfortune.

Aerith regaled everything, from Professor Dumbledore being suspended to Harry writing in the diary and learning of Hagrid being falsely accused. Hagrid has said they should follow the spiders and it would shed more light on the mystery. He was tantalized by the certainty he'd seen the spiders moving toward something, but unable to remember _where_. Worse still, he chased his thoughts in circles trying to remember, looping back to darkness every time.

It was hard to ignore being blind. That Aerith could startle him by resting a hand on his shoulder, meant to be comforting, served to pound another nail in his coffin. What little serenity he had left was fast being buried under turmoil and fear.

"Don't worry about it," said Aerith soothingly. If anyone else spoke those words, it would have been laughable. "What happened?"

He was unconscious for nine weeks, missed his brother talking to someone who might have purposefully led him off course, and Hagrid and Dumbledore were taken from the school. The monster was no closer to being stopped than it was before he was attacked and without their resident expert on magical creatures, he couldn't think of a way to identify the monster. And then there was the lookalike in his head, laughing mockingly and relishing in the grief of those who'd lost their loved ones.

A lot happened and he didn't know where to start. He was entirely sure he had the full right to start panicking, but he didn't even know what to panic over first.

"Something's in my head," said Sephiroth, a terrible way to begin if there ever was one, and he hurried to continue. "He looks like me, but taller . . . and evil."

Sephiroth remembered being impaled through the stomach very clearly, except he'd ended up back on the pond as if none of it occurred. After leaving that mental world, sitting next to Aerith ( _in the dark_ ), he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not.

He waited for a reply, but Aerith seemed to have fallen silent again and he didn't appreciate it. Even if her expression was telling, it wasn't as though he could see her face. Just as annoyance was starting to bubble in his chest, she finally broke the stifling quiet.

"He looked like you?" she said. Her heart beat a fraction faster and Sephiroth knew she was truly worried.

"That's what I said," Sephiroth replied waspishly. He instantly felt a prick of guilt for being short-tempered, but it was drowned under inability to find his mug full of potion. Aerith pressed it into his hands, leaving Sephiroth trying his best not to feel utterly helpless.

"There shouldn't be anyone besides yourself in your mind," said Aerith. "He was dangerous?"

The man had stabbed Sephiroth through the stomach and taunted him.

"Yes," he said. "Can you . . . get rid of him?"

Preferably before the man killed Sephiroth for real. He didn't know if it was possible to die in his own mind—perhaps he'd go brain dead?—but he didn't want to risk it.

"I monitored your mind the entire time you were asleep," said Aerith, "and there was nothing like what you said."

"He was there," said Sephiroth immediately, wondering if he'd made a mistake saying anything. If he was going insane, he didn't want anyone knowing. "I _saw_ him. He tried to kill me."

"It's possible," said Aerith after another long, unwanted pause, "that your mind created what you saw. Hostile mental invaders aren't impossible, but I don't sense anything off with your mind. . . . It's complicated, but yours in a mind with many nightmares."

"So, what you're saying is: if anyone's mind is gonna try and kill its body, it's my mind," said Sephiroth, doing his best to stare woodenly at her—he didn't know if he succeeded or not. That frustrated him almost as much as being unable to find a mug. "My brain hates me."

"That's . . . not what I meant," said Aerith.

Sephiroth was pretty sure that was exactly what she meant.

"If it happens again, I'll have to peer deeper inside your mind," said Aerith, and he couldn't quite tell if her tone was somber or not. If he could see her expression—

The mug burst in Sephiroth's hands and Aerith jumped slightly.

"Sorry," he mumbled, internally reeling. He grasped around for his wand, hoping a simple _repario_ would do the trick, and prayed Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be too furious at him for wasting a potion.

Instead of letting him fumble around, Aerith pulled the sheets back, taking the shards of the broken mug with it. Right before she left to retrieve new sheets, she set his wand in his hands. His wand was a reassurance, even if he had to feel for the right end, making the inescapable absence of everything a little more bearable. The door banged open with the force of a charging elephant after she returned, a roar of overlapping voices following. Sephiroth thought he heard Oliver Wood in the mix, which was baffling to say the least. Before he could be certain, Madam Pomfrey had ran most of them out of the hospital.

He found himself surrounded by his friends—although not before Madam Pomfrey had given them a stern talking to—as they all tried to talk at once, often plowing right over each other. Sephiroth was pulled into a hug and he didn't even need to hear Harry's voice, giving a near unperceptive shake, to know it was his brother. Genesis was warm as the fire he wielded, Hermione smelled of ink and books.

"It's good to see you, mate," said Ron.

" _Ron_ ," Hermione hissed.

"What?" he said.

She sighed.

There was an unspoken conversation going on and Sephiroth wished he knew what they were communicating via facial expressions. He also wished they _wouldn't_ , because he couldn't participate.

"So," said Angeal, settling by Sephiroth's side, with Harry was on the other side, "are your eyes really . . .?"

"We're going right into the sensitive questions?" said Genesis. "And you all say _I'm_ blunt. Honestly."

"It's only temporary," Sephiroth parroted what Madam Pomfrey said, more for himself than them. "I'll be fine soon."

"Yes, but are you feeling well?" said Harry in concern, hovering so close Sephiroth could nearly sense his proximity. "I'm not taking 'fine' for an answer, Seph. How are you feeling?"

Hermione, Genesis, and Ron had settled on the other end of the cot, going off the sudden sag in weight. Someone—definitely Genesis—nudged Sephiroth's legs aside so he'd have more room to lounge. And if Sephiroth didn't know better, that rustling was the sound of pages being flipped quickly. Hermione had brought books to the hospital. He wasn't at all surprised.

"Everything's . . ."

"Unclear?" Genesis suggested, followed by a yelp. "Just trying to lighten the mood— _ow_ , Hermione I didn't mean it like that!"

"Genesis, two minutes is too soon to make puns," said Angeal.

"It's alright," said Sephiroth, making them all fall quiet again. He shifted uncomfortably, the inability to see what they were thinking borderline torturous. "It's better than you all . . . acting like something's really wrong, I guess."

"Are you kidding?" said Ron, snorting. "You're looking at a few more weeks of no homework. And since you can't help you skipped all those classes, you might even get a free graduation."

"Don't be daft, they can't do that," said Hermione. "Graduation is earned."

The conversation was idle chatter for a while, Hermione trying to fit nine weeks of education into one short lecture, Ron attempting to stop her, and Genesis only adding notes every now and then. It inevitably turned to the question they all had, but were too hesitant to immediately voice. When Genesis ever-so-subtly brought up the subject of magical creatures, Sephiroth couldn't help a sigh.

"It was a snake of some sort," he said, smiling faintly when they assured him he didn't really have to tell them right now—they could wait. He could hear their impatience. "It was very big, fit the entire hall I was in—and don't look it in the eyes."

"Hermione thought she might have had a good idea of what it was," said Genesis, "but there's no way to actually find the creature. All the books are checked out."

"All twenty copies of them," said Hermione, disgruntled. "Who went and checked them all out? They should have been returned by now, too. Madam Pince is furious."

"I think she's more annoyed someone else connected the dots before her," mumbled Ron into Sephiroth's ear.

"I can _hear_ you," snapped Hermione.

"You wouldn't believe the new Defense professor we've got," said Harry excitedly. "Malfoy's dad's good for something, at least. Professor Lupin actually knows how to _teach_."

"Apparently Professor Dumbledore had already scouted him for next year," said Angeal, "but they brought him in earlier to take Lockhart's place. There's a huge scandal going on about the areas his books take place, too. Suspected fraud."

"Snape hates him, though," said Harry sourly, before adding, very sarcastically, "Big loss that is, right?"

"I don't think Snape likes anyone," said Ron sagely.

At the promise of a good class, Sephiroth was looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts. The last time he was eager for a DADA class was before his very first class last year.

They were made to leave by Madam Pomfrey soon after Sephiroth ate, his first solid meal in nine weeks. His body wasn't thanking him for the long fast, even with Madam Pomfrey managing to keep him alive with magic. Hermione had talked about it a great deal, admiration ringing in her voice, and Sephiroth knew she'd found a new subject of interest to study to death. There was a vacuum left in the hospital after they were gone, which Sephiroth failed to completely ignore.

Madam Pomfrey left him another dose of potion and he must have made a disgusted face, because she admonished him for being picky. As she bustled around the hospital, robes sweeping across the floor, Sephiroth fingered the cup reluctantly. He knew it was going to restore his sight (eventually), but that didn't make it taste or smell any better.

"It'll only take a few weeks at most," said Madam Pomfrey, "what with Miss Gainsborough's assistance. I've never seen magic of the likes before, but it certainly works miracles. It's speeding up your recovery."

"That's good," said Sephiroth, pinching his nose and gulping the potion all at once. He almost gagged, but kept it down.

"I'll say," said Madam Pomfrey. "Stay here any longer and you'll be striking up permanent residence."

The hospital slowly cooled as night fell, the windows left open at Sephiroth's request so he could hear the noises outside. He ended up regretting it several hours later, when he lay awake and didn't feel the slightest bit exhausted. It was to be expected, he supposed, after sleeping for over two months. Even if he was tired, there were some odd noises at night in Hogwarts, most of them originating from the Forbidden Forest. Normally he didn't notice, but being surrounded by nothing seemed to make his ears hypersensitive to everything.

He had tried to close the windows, but navigating the hospital without sight was harder than it seemed. Hearing heartbeats and breathing didn't help him locate chairs, or tables, or the odd book that had fallen out of place and ended up in the wrong place. Sephiroth just hoped the hospital didn't look like a tornado tore through it, as he suspected it did. Suffice it to say, the windows remained open.

It was times like that, when he was blind and not quite sure if he'd left his wand on the bedside table, he remembered the scary movies Dudley used to watch when Vernon and Petunia weren't home. And the horror games he played on his computer. They weren't real, but that didn't stop Sephiroth's brain helpfully picturing a grotesque humanoid creature crouching under his bed. Or outside the curtains. Or peering _through_ the curtains—

There was a muffled thump somewhere outside—Sephiroth made a scramble for his wand, missed three times, knocked over his cup again, and finally found his wand. He heard two voices cursing and, straining his ears, he recognized them as Fred and George.

When the twins' voices had faded from hearing, the steady drip-drop of his spilled potion stopped, Sephiroth laid back again. That was around when he noticed it. A buzz, fainter than the static electricity sound he used to hear, vibrating so quietly he almost thought he was imagining it. But he wasn't and the longer he focused on it, the louder it became.

It was in the walls, the ceiling, the floor—flowing in Sephiroth's veins. Tightly wound in the wand in Sephiroth's hand, a slipstream of energy that wasn't so much contained within the wood as it was channeled. It was like an early memory, half forgotten but surely there.

 _Magic_.

There was magic—and it was everywhere.

It was as though a switch was flipped in his mind, and he wondered how he'd never noticed in the past. The magic wasn't exactly trying to be quiet, saturated into the flagged stone floors and falls. Sephiroth had heard the story of how the founders of Hogwarts build the school with magic countless times, but he'd never realized how much magic was used in the magic until now. It was a beacon, loud and chaotic yet calm and clear.

His eyes were no more useful than they were minutes ago, but magic might as well have been a sixth sense—even if he still tripped over that one chair, because apparently magic wasn't used to make it.

Sephiroth would have immediately headed for Gryffindor Tower, but Madam Pomfrey had come to investigate the clamor he made trying to close the windows. She directed him back to his cot and didn't seem to take relief in his assurance he could get there on his own.

"I can see magic," he said. "I'm fine."

"What dose did I give you again?" said Madam Pomfrey. "Are you feeling woozy?"

"I'm fine," said Sephiroth, chipper despite waking up mere hours ago completely blind and desolate. "Magic solves everything!"

"Oh dear."

* * *

 **A/N:...Yeah I just had Remus Lupin instated as professor early. It doesn't technically count if he only teaches half a year, so the jinx is moot. (In my head.) Honestly, there's a lot of mental-games going on in this chapter, because everyone seems inclined to keep the truth dangling just above Sephiroth's head and he doesn't even realize.**

 **Guest: "Something tells me Draco is the one to check out all those books from the library." Not exactly, but I can't really explain (at the risk of my own health, you see, the person responsible might hurt me). However, Draco definitely is the type to sit and try to make a strategy. Now whether some people (looking at Genesis here) will listen is another story...**

 **Kit: Yeah, Aerith does have a sort-of connection through the lifestream, so she knows if something's up. The person who actually sensed something was wrong with Sephiroth in particular was Cloud, though. They've still got that mental connection thing going on, even if Cloud doesn't use it and Sephiroth doesn't know about it. And I'm explaining this because Sephiroth is an oblivious child and probably won't even ask. And even if he does, Cloud will just skirt around the answer. (Making my job so much harder, guys, jeez).**

 **Jaron: Well, the crossroads weren't Jenova... tbh, it's more of a metaphorical thing this time. And Older Seph playing mind games. He likes doing it wayyy too much, and it doesn't help I like writing that kind of weird stuff. XD I'm pretty sure Cloud's got a glare for everything... Though that was mostly because he probably doesn't trust hospitals if he doesn't know the doctors. ...Oooh, Aerith's theme! Makes me cry every time T_T And thanks! I actually have considered writing an original work, but it takes a _lot_ of work and I've never managed to develop a plot that fully takes my interest enough to stick to it. (I get distracted by fanfiction too easily XD).**

 **Toby: Yeah, Cloud's pretty much managed to move forward from the past. Plus Sephiroth's a little kid and I'm pretty sure he's got a soft spot for kids... Lucius Malfoy's another one of those gray characters, some of his actions seem deplorable, while they sometimes work out in the end. Intentionally or not is up to perceptive.**


	22. Chapter 22

22

Sephiroth discovered two days after waking up blind, magic didn't solve everything. No amount of magic helped him read, or write, or do anything else that involved ink on paper. It didn't help him navigate the halls he used to traverse through seeing certain landmarks, like portraits or tapestries, nor did it help him find his way back to the hospital after he was hopelessly lost. If it wasn't for a random student finding him and taking pity, he might have been wandering the halls for ages with no chance of finding his way back.

"It's good you're back on your feet, at least," said the student, as though they were already friends. "It's given everyone else in the school some hope. If you can come back, the others can . . ."

The only issue was Sephiroth knew better than anyone else just how different he was from all the other students who were attacked. Pessimism and annoyance, along with a plethora of other nasty emotions had been growing roots in his chest lately, festering painfully. He didn't like snapping at people, but his tongue had been a lot looser in recent days.

"Can they?"

"I don't know," replied the student despite Sephiroth's question having clearly been a rhetorical one. "But if you can wake up, then I believe your eyes can heal, too. . . . Don't give me that look, I'm not dense—and here we are."

The boy directed Sephiroth into the hospital, back to his cot and what was starting to feel like a prison. Even after the boy guided Sephiroth to safety, he stayed and chattered for several minutes before remembering to introduce himself. He was Cedric Diggory, Seeker of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and he'd would have played against Harry if the games hadn't been canceled due to the attacks. Friendly and talkative, he didn't seem to care very much that Sephiroth hardly responded, both unsure and a little unwilling to speak.

One thing he'd noticed about magic was that it wasn't just running through his own veins. It should have been obvious in hindsight, since he was in a castle full of wizards and witches, but it had struck him when Harry walked in the morning after he discovered he could sense magic. Harry was walking mass of shimmering magical energy—they all were—and it was startling.

Cedric didn't leave until the door slammed open and someone ran in, making a beeline for Sephiroth's side of the room and making him tense up on instinct. That bright buzz of energy, not magic like what Sephiroth was used to be something different, could only be—

" _Sephiroth_!" Zack all but wailed, crushing Sephiroth into a hug and choking off his breath. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier but I'd already taken off too many days and my boss was threatening to fire me and I feel terrible—it's like I chose a job over you but that's not what I was thinking, I promise! I've been worried sick and Aerith wrote me you woke up yesterday and—"

" _Zack_ ," Sephiroth wheezed. " _Can't breathe_."

"Well, see you later, Crescent," Cedric Diggory chuckled, taking his leave of the hospital.

Zack went quiet and Sephiroth felt his head turn, chin digging into the top of his own, presumably watching Cedric walk out the door. He waited until the sounds of Cedric's footfalls had faded completely, before a sigh blew over Sephiroth's hair. He loosened his vice-grip so Sephiroth could breathe easier, but didn't completely let go.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, far calmer than he was acting only moments ago. "Bah, you don't have to answer that. I can't imagine not being able to see anything."

Despite how enclosed and cagey Sephiroth had felt the past two days, Zack's hug was a warm reprieve from everything else that had been burdening his mind since waking. Maybe it was because Zack was eternally optimistic, but it was more natural than the guiding hands everyone pressed on his shoulder or back, or any other gestures trying to help ground him in a world he couldn't see.

"Are Harry and the others still in class?" asked Zack.

"Yeah," Sephiroth mumbled. "They should be finished soon. And the weekend starts tomorrow."

"Well, that's cool—who gave you this?!"

There was a frantic shuffle of pages as Zack grabbed a book from Sephiroth's bedside table, where a small pile of gifts had been laid out by his friends earlier that morning. A second later, Zack snapped the book closed, so hard it had to be done furiously.

"Not sure," Sephiroth admitted, ignoring the sinking thought of how typical it would be for someone to take advantage of the fact he couldn't actually tell what they were giving him. "It was kind of thrown at me. I'd bet it was Parkinson, though. . . . What's it about?"

"Nothing," said Zack sharply, his tone leaving no argument. He kept one arm looped around Sephiroth's shoulders, the sound of a book thumping against one of the far walls echoing through the hospital.

"That bad?" said Sephiroth glumly. "Did it have something to do with half-breeds?"

"Don't even ask," said Zack. "I'm talking with one of your professors later."

"Please don't," said Sephiroth. "It'll only egg her on."

"Or it'll cow her."

"Or she'll think she actually gets to me," said Sephiroth.

"Does she?"

A little bit.

Or maybe a lot. Sephiroth couldn't really be certain.

Nothing had made much sense lately, from his and Aerith's long conversations about his evil double to the curious magic he could sense. Even Cloud had showed interest in the man in Sephiroth's head that bordered on real concern. Soon though, the conversations had become circular and wearisome. No one had any real idea who or what Sephiroth had encountered, or if it was even real. Madam Pomfrey had even suggested it was something that came from being Petrified, and he'd simply remembered something people usually forgot. Waking up without the influence of the Mandrake draught was unheard of, after all.

Going off the way Aerith and Cloud wordlessly disregarded Madam Pomfrey's suggestion, they didn't believe that to be the case. Now that Zack had finally been released from the clutches of his job, Sephiroth was prepared to go through another looping conversation that reached no real goal.

"I heard you saw something pretty weird," Zack commented.

Sephiroth had resigned himself, but his shoulders still sagged.

Zack fell silent again—Sephiroth wasn't sure if that was a new habit, or if it happened a lot and he'd never noticed until he had to rely solely on hearing.

"How was he?" asked Zack, making Sephiroth's mental torrent of well-worn responses stutter off before he had the chance to voice them.

"How?" Sephiroth repeated.

"I mean, did he seem odd?" said Zack. "No—not odd. Tired? . . . How do I explain this? Um, old you used to be my boss?"

Sephiroth wished he could see Zack's expression so much. It had to be priceless.

"Your boss," he said. "Me?"

"Yeah," said Zack, chuckling. "It was kinda a big thing. That's a longer story, though. How did he seem?"

"Big-headed," said Sephiroth immediately. "Arrogant. Full of himself. Talkative. Annoying. . . . Should I continue?"

Zack snorted.

"I think that's good," he said. "But did he seem . . . I don't know. Disjointed?"

Sephiroth didn't even know what to say to that, so he opted to keep his mouth shut.

"Spacey?" asked Zack. "Out of it?"

"He did seem pretty insane?" said Sephiroth, still grasping for what Zack was trying to ask him.

"Did he seem . . . possessed?"

There was a baffling amount of hope in Zack's tone, drawing a frown out of Sephiroth. Of all people, Zack would know what Sephiroth thought of being forced to act against his will. Even aside from that, Sephiroth never once had the feeling his older double was being pulled by invisible strings. No one could look so irritatingly smug and be possessed at the same time. At the very least, he'd look slightly rigid, as though he was fighting.

"I don't think so," said Sephiroth. "He was far too _lively_."

The phantom agony of being impaled through his back briefly flashed through his torso.

"He was playing games," said Sephiroth. "Having _fun_."

A cold kind of quiet settled over them, with Zack unreadable in every way due to Sephiroth's inability to see him or his expressions, and Sephiroth wondered if he'd misspoken. It didn't feel like he'd said anything groundbreaking, but he couldn't remember a time Zack was truly speechless. He always seemed to have _something_ to say, no matter the situation.

"Zack?" he said cautiously.

There was no response, which was somehow even worse than having a bad one, and Sephiroth wished he would say something, anything, to assuage the theory that was brewing in his mind. It had been bubbling up in the back of his head for a while, but now it was frothing wildly and impossible to ignore.

"You don't think he's me, do you? Zack? He's not me. You and Aerith and Cloud know that. We're _nothing_ alike—people aren't play toys. I don't—I don't smirk like that, either, do I?!"

His voice had raised until it was nearly a panicked shout before Zack finally replied.

"What?" he sounded startled. "Of course not! You're not him. You've never been him."

Sephiroth had too much experience trying to convince himself, delude himself to bitter truths, to not recognize someone who was doing the exact same thing. If his eyes weren't blinded, he'd almost bet Zack would be avoiding them right now.

Things kept getting worse and worse. He couldn't make sense out of anything and no one was even trying to help him understand. To top if off, he couldn't even glean snatches of information from what people thought anymore, because he couldn't _see their face_ _s_ , and it was so very frustrating that he used to take it for granted. He never used to think of what it would be like if he suddenly lost his ability to see, and now it was gone and he though he might be going _mad—_

Zack stood suddenly, pulling Sephiroth off the cot by his hand.

"I'm starving," said Zack. It was an excuse to leave the hospital and they both knew it, but Sephiroth was glad anyway. "Let's go down for a bite—the Great Hall's got to have something out already."

"There's usually always something to snack on," said Sephiroth, allowing food to distract him. It wouldn't last forever, but he'd latch onto the relief as long as it could take him.

They walked without speaking for a short while, Sephiroth trying his best not to fidget awkwardly and hoping his hand wasn't sweating. He'd taken the entire bottle of the cure potion Madam Pomfrey had been giving him, since he was fairly sure he could measure out the portions himself. And even if he messed up and poured a little more than he was supposed to, it wouldn't harm him.

"Look," said Zack, "I think I kinda scared you a little—"

He wasn't scared. He refrained from speaking that aloud, knowing full well Zack would call out his bluff.

"—but we really don't think you're that guy," said Zack. "Whoever he is. We know you aren't, I mean. . . . You know I'm not all that great with words, right?"

Sephiroth tried unsuccessfully to stifle a snort.

"Now there's no need for that," said Zack, sounding highly offended. "I'm not _that_ terrible."

"I almost had a panic attack," said Sephiroth. "You're pretty terrible with words."

"So you admit you were scared?"

"You admit you're terrible with words?"

Zack somehow managed to make a sniff sound haughty, his pacing change to a kind of stomp that seemed so indignant that Sephiroth couldn't help but laugh. Within seconds, Zack had broken into snickers of his own and the tension had dissolved into a bearable level. He might not have been the best with weaving words, but Zack knew how to diffuse stress.

When they reached the entrance hall—at Zack's announcement—they were met by the chorused greetings of Genesis, Harry, Angeal, Hermione, and Ron. They were all practically falling over each other trying to crowd Sephiroth and Zack, and it took Sephiroth a second of nagging confusion to realize there was one more set of footsteps than voices.

"You're looking better," said Draco, very stiffly.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," said Ron.

Since he'd woken up, Draco had visited several times to talk idly or read the school textbooks out loud—endlessly boring—or simply stand there in contentment. He'd only visited while the others weren't there though, and Sephiroth knew it had everything to do with Lucius Malfoy having Dumbledore suspended. It was unfair, since Draco had no control over what his father did, but that didn't stop the others returning to their knee-jerk distrust.

"We were about to head up to the hospital," said Harry, taking Sephiroth's other hand and tugging him—hopefully toward the Great Hall. "We were going to bring you some food."

"Actually we planned on bringing food—"

Fred and George were there, too, it seemed.

"—and then you'd still be hungry, and we'd take you to the kitchens."

"Can we just go to the kitchen?" said Sephiroth, brightening even further. He wouldn't mind simply setting up a tent in the kitchen and just living there.

"That's a good idea," said Genesis quickly. "We can talk there."

Sephiroth guessed there was an unsaid _without being overheard_ tacked onto the end of his sentence. There was a quiet scuffle between Draco and Ron, the former wanting to be let in on what they were doing and the latter disinclined to acquiesce to his request.

"Talk about what?" asked Zack, bewildered as Sephiroth felt.

"Spiders," said Angeal. "We found some."

Ron made a noise of disgust.

"Oh, honestly," said Hermione, ill-concealed amusement in her tone, "it's not that bad."

"Says you," Ron mumbled. "I hate them—too many eyes."

Given that most of Sephiroth's childhood friends had been either spiders or snakes, he didn't understand why Ron disliked them. While he couldn't talk to spiders like he could snakes (looking back, he wished he'd thought to take the old ringed-neck snake with the terrible puns with him), they were harmless at best. And they caught the more annoying insects that got stuck in his hair.

"Yeah, I'm not big on spiders myself," said Zack with a faint shudder. "Though it's the pincers that do me in. . . . Anyway—Fred, George, why don't you lead the way to the kitchen?"

"Wait," said Sephiroth suddenly, pointing in the general direction he hoped Fred and George were still standing, "which of you is Fred and George?"

It had been impossible enough to tell while he could see them, but their voices were identical, too.

"Why, isn't it obvious?"

"I'm Gred—"

"—and he's Forge!"

"Or is it the other way around?"

They were both lying, of course. That didn't inform Sephiroth who was Fred and who was George. He was reminded why he'd given up on telling them apart. Unless he had gotten them all wrong from the beginning, they didn't want to be told apart.

They headed for the kitchen, the answer forever a mystery. Sephiroth was eager to hear where the spiders had all escaped to at the very least, since he still couldn't remember where he'd seen the spiders scurrying off to and it bothered him. He distracted himself from his mounting eagerness by trying to memorize the way to the kitchens from the entrance hall, which turns Harry led him down, until he realized he'd forgotten if they took a left or a right for their third turn and gave up.

He tried to focus on the magic instead, but the harder he concentrated the more it seemed to turn into a giant writhing mess. The most he could make out were his friends around him, Harry guiding him, before it started to overwhelm him. He spent the rest of the way listening to Ron try and explain why Malfoy shouldn't be allowed to come with them, until Genesis told him to shut up. Unfortunately, learning the secret of the spiders took far longer than Sephiroth expected. The second they stepped into the kitchen Hermione let out a loud shriek, making him jump.

" _House Elves_?!"

"What?" said Sephiroth, a past conversation with Draco resurfacing. "Hogwarts has House Elves?"

"You didn't know that?" said Draco, sounding very uncomfortable.

"All our food—the cleaning— _everything—_ it's all House Elves?" cried Hermione. She seemed so upset that Zack let go of Sephiroth's hand to walk over to her side. Sephiroth imagined he patted her head—or something. He couldn't tell. "Hogwarts partakes in _slave labor?_ "

"It's not slave labor," said Draco.

"Do they get payed?" asked Hermione tightly. "Benefits? Time off?"

"Well—"

"Then it's slave labor," she snapped. "This isn't right. I can't believe _Hogwarts_ of all places—that Professor Dumbledore—"

"Hermione, they're used to it," said Ron reluctantly, most likely displeased that he had to agree with Draco. "They like cleaning up."

"How much of that is from mental conditioning?" said Hermione furiously.

"We didn't come here to debate House Elf rights, Granger," said Draco impatiently. "The spider thing—"

"Of course, poor House Elves aren't as important—"

"As making sure no one else dies?" said Genesis. "Yes, people dying isn't _nearly_ as important—"

There was a thump and Genesis bit off a snarled curse.

"House Elves are important," said Angeal, and he had to be glaring at Genesis, Sephiroth was sure of it, "I agree they shouldn't be forced into slave labor—"

"They _aren't_ ," Draco groused.

"—but we do need to worry about the more life-threatening issue," Angeal finished.

"Spiders," Ron grumbled.

"We saw them heading to the Forbidden Forest," said Harry eagerly. "Hagrid said if we followed the spiders, we'd learn something important. That's what we need to do! So far, everything's just looped us back to where we started. I feel like this will really clear things up for us."

"Exploring a forest with potentially dangerous creatures," said Zack, humming thoughtfully. "Sounds like fun!"

"You're a terrible role model," said Draco bluntly. "Adults are supposed to tell us not to be reckless or stupid. You're doing the opposite."

"You wound me," said Zack. "I'm a wonderful role model! Who wouldn't want to be me?"

"Me," said Draco.

Sephiroth gave another start when something was pressed into his side. He latched on to a plate and a small hand patted his own, bare feet quickly pattering away. It was piled with food and Sephiroth was a little too hungry to turn his nose up to it, even if it was made from possible slave labor—Hermione made a disgusted noise again—so he wolfed it down.

It was easier to process and care about what was being said when he was suffering a constant, gnawing hunger. Especially when the topic of conversation was the Forbidden Forest, which he thought he'd never get his fill of in a single lifetime. True, the last time he went there Voldemort had tried to kill him, but he refused to believe there would be another Voldemort hiding in the forest next time he explored the forest. He hadn't gotten the chance to stroll through the Forbidden Forest all year long and now he had an irrefutable excuse.

"We should stop by to visit Fang," said Sephiroth. "And then maybe say hullo to the Centaurs. Or Firenze, at least."

"Absolutely not," said Draco.

There was no saying whether his vehemence was out of outrage that Sephiroth would suggest accompanying them, or if he was extremely worried.

"That's dangerous, why would you even think of that? Your sight hasn't healed yet! What if something happened and you got separated—you'd be lost and who know what would find you in the Forbidden Forest—and I don't trust the Centaurs, they seem shifty—"

He would have kept going, but Zack cut him off with a laugh.

"I don't think you're giving me enough credit," he said. "I'm more than capable of keeping an eye on Sephiroth."

"I'm not that helpless," said Sephiroth, hoping he wasn't as gloomy as he sounded to himself.

"You're not helpless," said Harry reassuringly. "And I'm sure Zack can make sure you don't get lost."

"I won't," said Sephiroth.

"I can't believe he's being serious," Draco mumbled incredulously. "Of all the harebrained ideas . . ."

Sephiroth accepted all the food the House Elves saw fit to give him, while Hermione huffed indignantly. He didn't blame her reaction, since he found the House Elves' quiet sort of reverence strange and off-putting. None of them seemed too concerned with students being in the kitchens, even though Sephiroth didn't know if they were strictly allowed down here. That might have had something to do with Fred and George's presence though. It was well-known they'd been visiting the kitchens since their first year.

Once they'd all eaten their fill—according to Harry, Zack managed to eat almost as much as Sephiroth, which sounded like a challenge—Harry prepared to leave for the Forbidden Forest immediately. Zack convinced him otherwise, wanting to bring Cloud and Aerith along.

"He's off on a delivery," said Zack. "And Aerith wanted to make sure the garden was getting along okay."

Sometimes Sephiroth forgot they'd dropped everything to come and watch over him at Hogwarts. He had thought they'd leave soon after he regained consciousness, but the attack had solidified the belief they needed to stay. Normally, he would have loved them staying so long, but now he realized exactly how thin it was stretching them.

Zack must have caught his expression.

"Don't worry about it," he said warmly. "It's nothing you've got to—watch out for that step!"

A big hand stopped Sephiroth from taking another step, right before a false step.

"I always forget about the sixth step being fake," Sephiroth grumbled, going to step right over it—and finding himself soaring upward, with Zack hardly able to contain his wild laughter. " _Zack—_ stop!"

"That's better!" he crowed, flinging Sephiroth over his shoulder. "Hang on—this way, we don't have to worry about missteps!"

"Put—me— _down!_ " yelled Sephiroth, clinging to Zack's shoulder. He knew Zack wasn't ten miles tall, but it did nothing to make the lack of solid ground under his feet less horrifying. There might as well have been a fathomless lake hundreds of feet below him, for all he was aware.

The only ones who seemed even slightly indignant on Sephiroth's behalf was Draco and the twins, and the latter was because they thought the "Toss him up and run" technique was theirs alone. Even Draco sounded more jealous than disapproving, although that was probably due to Sephiroth being incapable of deciphering his tone very well.

Of course, Genesis thought carrying Sephiroth around was more convenient—he really wished he could reach down and punch Genesis.

Sephiroth felt vindicated for all of five seconds by Madam Pomfrey's enraged response to Zack manhandling him. Then she decided he shouldn't be allowed to leave the hospital wing anymore. The others hastily tried to backpedal and convince her otherwise, but once Madam Pomfrey made up her mind there was no making her change it. Zack, Harry, Angeal, Genesis, Ron, and Hermione said their goodbyes, none of them (including Zack, in a show of remarkable maturity) hide their displeasure with Madam Pomfrey's decision.

"Now," said Madam Pomfrey, far less irritable once they were out of the hospital, "it's time for another dose. Where's the potion?"

Sephiroth felt himself blanch. He brought the potion along so he wouldn't miss any doses and, without a doubt, he'd left it in the kitchen. While he scrambled to find a way to explain to Madam Pomfrey how he'd left the potion somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, she let out a longsuffering sigh.

"Where did you— _oh_ , there it is!"

She snatched a glass bottle off the bedside table, filling a cup and handing it to him. Sephiroth's head spun as he tried to figure out how the bottle managed to find its way back where it belonged. It occurred to him in a rush: the House Elves who kindly kept him fed must have returned the potion.

Sephiroth didn't care what Ron and Draco said about the House Elves—he was backing Hermione's arguments on House Elf rights. And he might even forgive Dobby of all the things he'd done to "help" Harry and himself.

"You'll probably start seeing vague shapes by tonight," said Madam Pomfrey. "I'd expect it'll be even sooner, with how quickly you heal."

He hadn't heard better news since he woke up. Hoping to notice a difference in his vision—or lack thereof—he stayed up as long as he could, occasionally rubbing his eyes. He didn't remember falling asleep, only being shaken awake some hours later. Sephiroth shot upright, grasping around for who'd woken him, and didn't entirely calm down until he heard Harry whisper, " _It's me_."

"Oh," he said, fingers meeting slippery fabric, before he remembered it was probably well past midnight and Harry was supposed to be asleep. It sounded like there were a couple others with him, too. "The Invisibility Cloak? Why are you here? Did something happen?"

"Zack wanted us to wait until Cloud came back," said Harry, "but I don't think we should. If we go with them, they'll probably have us turn around at the slightest sign of danger."

"I highly doubt that," came Genesis's voice. "I'm pretty sure Zack and Cloud by themselves are stronger than anything in that forest."

Sephiroth was inclined to agree.

"He doesn't want to wait," said Angeal, sounding far too amused.

"And Hermione wants to see the forest," said Genesis.

"I do _not_ ," she said waspishly. "I'm just making sure you all don't do anything reckless!"

"You mean like heading into the Forbidden Forest without the ones who can fighting off the stuff that might want to kill us?" said Ron, and Sephiroth could almost _hear_ him raising his eyebrows incredulously.

When Hermione opted to say nothing, Genesis responded for her.

"I believe 'touche' is appropriate here," he said.

"Oh, stuff it," she said.

"Anyway," said Harry pointedly, "we're not going to leave you behind. You and I will use the Invisibility Cloak, and Genesis and Angeal will make sure Ron and Hermione don't run into anyone."

For a whole minute Sephiroth allowed himself to be taken away in the joy of revisiting the Forbidden Forest, chocked full of dangerous and fascinating creatures, before the issue he'd rather ignore reared its head. Angeal and Genesis planned on navigating the castle without being caught by their hearing, but they weren't the only ones in the castle at the moment with extremely good hearing. Sephiroth knew from experience—when Zack really tried, nothing missed his notice.

The likelihood of them sneaking out of Hogwarts without Zack catching them was about as good as Sephiroth going unpunished for not turning in his Transfiguration homework. Though that might have been a bad analogy, since he was unable of finishing the mountains of homework that had piled during the passing weeks.

The allure of the chilling Forbidden Forest air tangled up with the fear of Zack catching them, along with the reminder he had a lifetime worth of homework waiting for him. For the second time in a week, he was caught by the uncertainty of what to panic over first.

"Will this actually work?" said Sephiroth, fingers hooking around the edge of his cot. "I can still hear stuff just fine, so I'm fine, but Zack's just as good at listening—and will we even be able to hear him coming? Why have I never payed attention to how much noise he makes?"

Before he knew it, his words were tumbling out in a ramble and, for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to stop. It was as though all the nervousness and fright he'd experienced since waking up, stranded in a dark sea, was pouring out. He would have gone on for quite awhile if Genesis didn't cut him off sharply.

"I have a perfect solution," he said.

Sephiroth closed his mouth with an audible click.

There was a rustle of parchment being unfolded.

"I have _this_ ," said Genesis proudly. "I'd always wondered how Fred and George did it—you know, getting around the castle so fast. Well, I learned their secret. I can't believe something like this even exists—truly an amazing bit of magic at work."

Sephiroth, bewildered and lost, nodded along mutely.

"Whoa," breathed Ron. "Is that—?"

"Yep," said Genesis proudly.

"That's brilliant!" gasped Harry.

Unless Sephiroth was wrong and they were choosing to keep what Genesis found from him on purpose, they'd forgotten he couldn't actually see anything. He waited, tapping his fingers impatiently, until his lack of understanding started to grate on his own nerves.

He slipped off his cot and snatched the—whatever it was—from Genesis's hands and held it up.

"What is it?" he asked.

There was a beat, then—

"You're holding it upside-down," said Angeal helpfully. "And it's a map that shows the entire castle, and everyone in it."

He grabbed the map from Sephiroth, flipping it over in his hands, and then directed Sephiroth's free hand to a spot on the map.

"That's the Gryffindor common room," he said. "Seamus, Neville, and Dean are all asleep."

Sephiroth ran his fingers over the words, slightly risen above the rest of the parchment. It wasn't by much, just enough for him to vaguely trace the words. He wouldn't be reading anything on the map by touch any time soon.

"Wait," said Sephiroth, realization finally dawning on him. "Does that mean we—you'll be able to tell where Zack is? Fred and George have had this all this time?"

"That's what we've _been_ saying," Genesis snapped.

"Where've you been, mate?" said Ron with a snort.

"I've been in the country of Can't-Read-Maps," said Sephiroth, his annoyance bubbling up again, "in the world of Eyes-Don't-Work."

"Sorry," Ron mumbled.

There was a short scuffle, Hermione trying unsuccessfully to make Genesis apologize as well. It was awkward, since Sephiroth didn't want his apology and was chastising himself for losing his temper in the first place. They couldn't help he'd been attacked and didn't deserve to take the brunt of his frustration.

"Where's Zack now?" said Harry, taking the map from Sephiroth. "He's way over in the other side of the castle, near the Gryffindor common room . . ."

"He's probably watching out for the monster," said Hermione.

"Well, as long as he stays there he won't be a problem," said Genesis cheerily.

"You're enjoying this too much," said Angeal dryly.

"Everything we've learned this year has chased in us circles," said Genesis. "Now we finally have the chance of finding something _useful_."

"Why does it have to be spiders, though?" Ron mumbled. "Why can't it be follow the butterflies?"

"Think positively," said Genesis. "This will be the perfect chance to overcome your fear of spiders."

"Or cause permanent trauma," Ron complained.

They left the hospital, following the long and drafty corridors. It had warmed greatly since the last time Sephiroth was conscious. The temperature difference didn't even occur to him until he realized he no longer needed to pull his robes closer around himself to keep the coldness at bay. It was another starting reminder of the long span of time he'd been sleeping. Harry kept a tight hold on his hand, ensuring he didn't trip or miss turns—though Sephiroth didn't know how Harry could think he'd miss a turn. They were both under the Invisibility Cloak and if nothing else, Sephiroth could tell when Harry was rounding a corner.

Navigating to the entrance hall was far harder than they initially thought it would be, as Fred and George were suddenly moving about the castle with Professor Snape and a few others on the prowl. Genesis reported Professor Lupin was in his office, seemingly pacing back and forth restlessly.

"Wonder what's up with him," said Ron.

"He seems to get like that around this time," said Hermione slowly.

"It's probably nothing," Genesis cut across her.

There was definitely a story behind that and Sephiroth wanted to hear it. So much time had passed and he knew there were things he was bound to have missed, but sharpness in Genesis's tone made him think the subject of Professor Lupin held more importance. He didn't get the chance to ask them, since they were trying to be quiet and asking would only heighten their risk of being caught. He knew the map made it almost impossible, but he was still paranoid.

Once they'd finally reached the front doors, easing them open slowly in an attempt to make less noise, and stepped outside in the night air, Sephiroth focused on blinking his eyes. A rush of earthy scents hit him—the Forbidden Forest far off and even the greenhouses where the Mandrakes were growing. He kept hoping he'd start noticing blurry shapes and colors, as Madam Pomfrey said he might, but nothing had changed. He could rely on his scent and hearing, but he couldn't smell or hear the moon and stars in the sky.

"It's full," said Angeal without prompting, "the moon, that is. A couple clouds, not many, but enough to block out some of the light. And the stars are really bright."

"Oh, and don't forget it's spring now," said Hermione quickly. "The trees all have leaves. And there's some colorful flowers—purple, blue, and yellow."

A faint smile curled Sephiroth's lips. He couldn't see what Angeal and Hermione were talking about, but he imagined it was beautiful. And maybe it could never compare, but their attempts at being eyes for him was enough.

Before long, they'd all started describing the scenery as they walked down the grounds. Genesis, who was dramatic even in the best of times, took great pleasure in turning the world into a storybook. Ron despaired over it, but Hermione was laughing quietly at some of his descriptions.

"—And here comes Hagrid's house up ahead," said Angeal. "D'you think we should stop by for Fang?"

"Has someone been taking care of him?" asked Sephiroth worriedly. "With Hagrid gone and all . . ."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Professor Kettleburn makes sure he gets walks and Ron and I have been leaving food for him."

A thunderous bark of excitement greeted them when they opened the front door of Hagrid's house and Fang sprang out, leaping happily all over them. They hurriedly shushed him with pets and a chunk of treacle fudge, and his barks quieted to high, keening whines. He finally spotted Sephiroth and—instead of having forgotten all about him as he'd expected Fang would—immediately jumped him. It took the combined efforts of Genesis and Angeal to stop Fang leaving slobbered kisses over Sephiroth's whole face.

"Good boy," Angeal chuckled. "He's been worried about you."

Sephiroth wiped his face clean with Harry's Invisibility Cloak, unable to stop the little bursting happiness in his chest.

"I can tell," he said.

"I'm leaving the Invisibility Cloak here," said Harry, "we won't need it in the forest. . . . C'mon Fang, we're going for a walk . . ."

"You know he's gonna run off at the slightest sign of trouble," said Sephiroth, remembering Fang bailing on them at the sign of anything remotely frightening.

"That's comforting," said Ron. "Oh—good thinking. I'd light mine, too, but you know—it'd probably blow up or something."

Sephiroth was left bewildered until Hermione explained Harry had used _lumos_ to light the tip of his wand. Apparently Ron hadn't been given a new wand yet, either. He really needed to write his mother for one, since it was still disrupting his ability to use magic. At the rate Ron was going, he would have gone a whole year without a single successful spell. Mrs. Weasley couldn't still be angry over the lost (stolen) car, could she?

The question was left unanswered as they ventured into the Forbidden Forest. Harry kept a vice-like grip on Sephiroth's hand, even tighter than when they were in the school. Unlike when they were traversing the corridors, Sephiroth could understand Harry's paranoia a little more. It would be much easier for him to accidentally wander off in the Forbidden Forest, and finding them again wouldn't be as easy as listening for them with the overwhelming sound of insects and woodland animals. He wasn't sure if it had been so loud last time, but it seemed like half the forest was on the move. His friends' would be just another set of footfalls in the midst of chaos.

"Spiders," whispered Genesis, "right there."

"We're going the right way, then," Harry murmured.

"They're awfully large," said Hermione.

Ron whimpered.

"Oh, honestly," said Hermione, "they're more afraid of you than you are of them."

"I highly doubt that," said Ron.

"They're running from you, see?"

"Actually," Harry interceded, "I don't think they're running from any of us. I think whatever the monster in the castle is, they're afraid of it."

"Yes, yes, that's good and all," said Genesis. "Now _shush_ , we're trying _not_ to be heard."

"You started talking first," Ron grumbled.

They continued in silence, crunching over the leaves, while Sephiroth thought they could probably keep talking and nothing in the forest would particularly care. He was sure he heard the clopping of hooves at least once, and wondered if it was a centaur or unicorn. If it was a unicorn, it could have even been the one he'd saved last year.

Harry jumped at one point, nearly knocking Sephiroth over, but it was only because Fang's nose had brushed against his hand.

"Hah," said Genesis, proving himself to be a hypocrite yet again, "you getting scared— _oh hell_ _what is that?_ "

"What?" said Sephiroth, startled at the sudden change of tone. "What is it?"

Fang barked loudly, making him jump.

Ron started panicking and Sephiroth had a sneaking suspicion of what they'd run across, and he really _really_ hoped he was wrong.

"Shut up," hissed Harry to Ron, sounding terrified. "It'll hear you."

" _Hear me_?"

" _Shhh_ ," said Hermione, though she had at some point placed herself directly in front of Sephiroth.

"It's a monster," said Ron, his voice pitched several octaves higher than normal.

There was the rev of a loud engine, Fang barking frantically, and the crunching of something that sounded a lot like tires, but that couldn't be right. Sephiroth didn't know how a monster with tires could exist, unless it was some sort of mutated creature he didn't care to imagine.

"It's our car!" said Ron, breathless with relief. "Wait—Genesis you should have known that!"

There was a stretch of no one speaking, before Genesis replied.

"Yes, but you should have seen your face," he snickered.

"You—"

" _Genesis!_ "

"This is _not_ the time!"

A chorus of furious voices raised and Sephiroth pried his hand out of Harry's long enough to hunt down Genesis and kick him. He missed Genesis's arm and slid passed his chest, but he still let out an _oof,_ and it sounded painful.

Sephiroth stumbled back and tried to look as though it was what he intended to do, telling himself the heat that raised to his face wasn't a blush. The others were arguing and Genesis was laughing unabashedly, while the engine of the Ford Angela hummed in the background. For a second, he wondered if they'd all forgotten they were in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. All the noise they were making was bound to attract attention.

There was a whoosh of something dropping through the air and a chill ran up Sephiroth's spine, a buzzing sense of warning. He'd half turned when something snatched him off the ground, spinning him upside down and pinning his arms to his side. He thrashed in terror, whatever was holding clamped down harder and something prickly stung his arms.

" _Sephiroth_!"

A flare of heat warmed the air and he knew Genesis was throwing fire around—he was raised up, up higher into the trees, leaves brushing against him and branches whipped by his face. He abruptly stopped fighting, dizzying vertigo setting in, unable to tell how far up he'd been taken. It could have been a dozen or a thousand feet.

He didn't know long he was carried around the canopy, or how far—which was extremely troubling and made breathing a lot harder, because he didn't know how he was getting back without the others to guide him. An age passed before he was released, caught in agonizing free-fall and unsure how hard the sudden stop would be—he landed on his side, having hardly dropped more than his own height.

"Aragog!" a voice clicked from somewhere above Sephiroth. "Aragog!"

The rustle of hundreds of legs pattering over the forest floor stirred around him. Sephiroth frantically told himself it was probably many little creatures, not one huge one with hundreds of legs. He was pretty sure a monster like that didn't exist in the first place. Of course, he'd been sure magic didn't exist at one point in his life, too. He really wished he'd run into centaurs. Even Bane, calling him unnatural and a calamity's child, was preferable.

"What is it?" called out another voice, deeper and rougher, presumably Aragog. The sharp thumps of the creature—whatever it was—moving closer was louder than the others. It sounded _enormous_.

"Men," said the first voice.

"Is it Hagrid?" asked Aragog.

Either Aragog couldn't be bothered to see who the other creature brought, or he was as blind as Sephiroth.

"A stranger," said the creature. "There are others, too."

Sephiroth didn't hear his friends anywhere around, so the other monsters were probably trying to catch them. He didn't see Genesis or Angeal letting that happen, luckily. As long as Harry was safe. . . .

"Kill them," said Aragog. "I was sleeping . . ."

"I'm Hagrid's friend!" said Sephiroth, his voice sounding high to his own ears. "We're friends!"

There was nothing but the thoughtful clicks of the creatures around him, whispers of movement through the forest.

"Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before," said Aragog.

Sephiroth wracked his brain for something to say. All he could come up with was, _Please don't kill me_ , or _Can I go now?_

"He's—he's been taken," said Sephiroth, struggling to stay calm. None of his limbs seemed to want to do what he wanted them to.

"Taken?" came the brittle response. "But why are you here?"

"Up at the school, they all think Hagrid's—they think he's set a m-monster on the students," said Sephiroth, trying as hard as he could to guess what he was surrounded by from the sounds of their movements. All he could glean was that they had a lot of legs. "They've taken him to Azkaban."

"But that was years ago. . . . Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."

"So it wasn't him," said Sephiroth, which was confirmation he hadn't really needed—from a source that wouldn't help Hagrid. "You didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets. . . . You don't sound right."

"I was not born in the castle," said Aragog, verifying what Sephiroth already knew. "I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good friend and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, of many students, he protected me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid's goodness . . ."

"I—yes, it sounds like they've grown," said Sephiroth, feeling awkward. "So you've just lived here ever since? You've never harmed anyone?"

"Never," said Aragog in his dry old voice. "It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The bodies of the students who were killed were found in different places, a girl in a bathroom and the others in a classroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the quiet . . ."

"Your kind . . .?" Sephiroth's voice trailed off, hoping for clarification.

"Have you never seen an acromantula before?" said Aragog, sounding very insulted. "Has that school not even taught you of us?"

"Oh, oh of course," said Sephiroth, breaking into a cold sweat. "Yes. Acromantula. I know of you, of course. You're—you grow awfully big."

He waited for Aragog to respond, feeling as though the atmosphere was trying to crush him from all angles. He could imagine hundreds—no, thousands—of acromantula staring down at him. Their beady eyes, clicking pincers, spindly legs. Webbing clinging to the forest and dripping around in thick, clumpy ropes of white. Sephiroth envisioned a nightmare.

"Your eyes do not work," said Aragog slowly, realizing why Sephiroth hadn't immediately known what he was. "You are blind, as I am. Such a strange human. You have the hair of elderly but you are one of their young. A student. It is strange. Like a forgotten memory . . ."

"That's nice," said Sephiroth. He was thoroughly sick and tired of far-off memories. "Do you know what the monster is? What it's called?"

His question caused an uproar, the surrounding army of acromantula stirring like an angry hornets' nest. Only they were huge spiders, instead of bees. Sephiroth would personally take the bees.

"The thing that lives in the castle is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others," said Aragog, his voice trembling. "Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school. We do not speak of it. We do not name it. I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times."

There was another rustle of movement from Aragog, and after a moment Sephiroth realized Aragog was moving away. He felt exposed, spiders drawing nearer, their legs creaking as they descended from above—even without seeing it, the mental image was horrifying enough.

"It was nice talking to you," said Sephiroth, forcing his legs to work and raising to his feet. "I'll just be leaving now—"

"Leaving?" Aragog rumbled. "I think not . . ."

"What," said Sephiroth flatly.

"My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friend of Hagrid."

"W-wait!" Sephiroth scrambled away from the enclosing sounds of spiders. "But without this—Hagrid won't be free! They have to hear this, or he'll be stuck in Azkaban forever!"

Sephiroth waited for the acromantula to barrage him from all sides, hoped he was strong enough to tear through them and escape, but nothing happened.

Unbelievably, Aragog seemed to be considering what Sephiroth had said.

"I suppose—"

There was a _crack_ of a gunshot, the light thump of someone landing in front of Sephiroth, and he was being tossed over a shoulder. Sephiroth found himself being carried for the second time in the stretch of an hour, only now it was by a human.

"Who?" said Sephiroth, half-expecting to hear it was a crazy serial killer, or something, knowing his rotten luck. "Who are you?"

"I am Tseng," said the man. "You and your friends are in trouble."

* * *

 **A/N: And after the long wait, in which I get my life sort of in order (that's a strong sort of), here's chapter 22! It's a pretty long one, so hopefully that makes up for it. I've always loved writing blind!Sephiroth and I hope I've done it justice, since I not blind... and I don't know anyone who's blind.**

 **I'll try to get the next chapter out in a timely fashion, but I should warn everyone that updates will probably be sporadic for the next two to three months. At the very least, it might give me some time to get chapters written out in advance so I won't feel the press of getting them done in a timely fashion.**

 **Jaron: There's a lot going on with older Sephiroth in that chapter.. Some of it plot related, some of it hinting toward a few of my headcanons.. Most of it's plot related so I'll keep quiet to avoid spoilers! :D Sephiroth doesn't have his memories back... even though his rotten subconscious seems to be trying. XD**

 **Toby: Yep, Sephiroth can sort of sense magic. It's pretty complicated and really vague, and it really isn't much a help to him at the moment. However, it will be very important down the road. (I'm saying that a lot, lmao).**

 **Kit: It is pretty close along those lines! Sephiroth's past life definitely doesn't want to be forgotten, even if Sephiroth's trying his best not to remember... poor guy. (And the "I will never be a memory line" is just so iconic. I go around spouting it at every opportunity irl, even if people have no fucking clue what I'm talking about XD).**

 **See you guys with the next chapter! ...Which will hopefully be next week, but again don't hold me to that. :D**


	23. Chapter 23

23

Sephiroth clung to Tseng's shoulder, the man's words clear as a warning bell in his mind, and just as obviously redundant. Acromantula were out for their flesh, the centaurs didn't tolerate children in their forest for very long, it was midnight and Sephiroth wasn't convinced werewolves didn't live in the Forbidden Forest. To say he was in trouble was the understatement of the century and Sephiroth didn't think he could impress that enough.

"The forest is trying to kill us," he said, keeping his voice steady as he could, despite being jostled around by Tseng jumping to avoid acromantula and the very natural tremor of fear. "That's pretty big trouble."

Tseng leaped and for a second they were weightless—Sephiroth's breath stuttered in his lungs, grasping wildly at Tseng's shoulders again, hoping there was ground under them. It didn't help they had to move fast and Sephiroth didn't have enough time to get his bearings, to listen and absorb his surroundings. He felt like he was dangled over an abyss.

"That's the least of your concerns," said Tseng.

The whisper of something stringy and cool whizzed by them, the clicks a serenading death song above them. A heavy body struck the ground just behind them, followed by the horrific clashing of many legs scrabbling for purchase on the needle-bedded ground.

"It is?"

"You left the castle unattended," said Tseng, either ignoring or simply missing Sephiroth's voice, "your eyes haven't recovered, and your friends were unable to keep track of you. You are in trouble."

It clicked—Sephiroth shuddered, imagining a mountain of grotesque hairy limbs and glittering black eyes—that Tseng wasn't talking about their imminent life-and-death situation. Oh, no. He was talking about Zack, Cloud, and Aerith, who were undoubtedly going to "somehow" find out about what happened. He was talking about the lecture Sephiroth and his friends were going to receive. Sephiroth considered tipping himself back into the forest and allowing the spiders to devour him.

Then his latched onto the word 'friends' and it was as if he'd been flung into darkness again, arms pinned down webbing and pincers, unseen by his own eyes, hovering by his face.

"Are they okay?" he yelped, squirming in Tseng's grip so he could yell in the man's ear. "They're not hurt, are they? They must've gotten away, they weren't with me!"

"They're in the car," said Tseng.

"The car?"

As in, the car that malfunctioned and crash landed on the Hogwarts grounds, nearly killing them all? The car that contained a temperament that was so close to sentience it was concerning? His friends couldn't be taking refuge in there. Just the thought of it only tightened the knot of worry in Sephiroth's stomach. They could be dumped out over the canopy, rammed into one of the house-sized trees, left to the acromantula's tender mercies—

Sephiroth's torrent of unhelpful scenarios was interrupted by the growing rumble of an engine. He stopped fighting Tseng's hold, tilting his head toward the sound, straining himself to hear more. He thought his hearing might have gotten even keener since he was blinded. They didn't actually reach the car for another ten minutes.

Long before that, Sephiroth had picked out Genesis yelling at someone, Hermione shrieking, Harry trying to yell over both of them, Angeal scolding all three of them, and Ron whimpering about spiders. There was a tornado of voices on the inside of the vehicle and, if they were easily heard from so far away, they were likely to be painfully loud.

Sephiroth twisted suddenly, _almost_ taking Tseng off-guard. Before he could touch the ground, Tseng had wrapped his arms around Sephiroth's slight form again and hauled Sephiroth up on his shoulder. He didn't drop Sephiroth until they were hardly two paces from the Ford Angela, but when he did, Sephiroth shot out and—well, he would have liked to fling himself into the car. He had to find the door handle first.

He didn't get the chance, the others spotting him and piling up to open the door at once. He was all but yanked inside, buried under their embraces and cries, until he was overwhelmed by the noises. He was too relieved to find them alive and unhurt, and to be the same himself, for his overstimulated senses to ruin the moment.

"There were huge, _huge_ spiders," said Ron, high-pitched and terrified. "They were _huge_. I'll never forgive Hagrid. 'Follow the spiders,' yeah right. And we almost _died_."

"DON'T GET ME STARTED!" Genesis yelled, getting himself riled up. " _That guy_ wouldn't let us fight back! We were sitting ducks, we could have died, and we couldn't do _anything_. And to top it off, he's some kind of creepy pervert—"

"He is not," sighed Angeal.

"He's been disguised as a cat for over a year," said Genesis. " _Sephiroth's_ cat. He's a _pervert_. I'll burn all that stupid hair off his stupid head—"

"Wait who's my cat?" said Sephiroth. It was as if he'd flipped a book open to fifteen chapters in, when he'd only just started reading the first page. He was lost. "What about my cat? And why couldn't you fight back? You were almost killed? I understand not killing them, they can't help their nature, but Aragog sounded _huge_ and there were hundreds, maybe _thousands_ , of them, and—"

"Seph," came Harry's voice from somewhere in the warmer, more trustworthy darkness. His brother's hands found their way around his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. " _Breathe_. You're rambling."

Sephiroth's voice choked off and he sucked in a deliberate breath, suddenly aware of the fuzziness in his head. The others took advantage of his silence to explain the situation.

"So yeah," said Ron, "your cat is kind of . . . some secret agent, spy bloke?"

"Turk," said Tseng from the front seat, or where Sephiroth guessed the front seat was, and the engine gave a particular loud purr. They were rolling over the forest floor, large roots and debris tossing them around like unwanted luggage.

"I was watching Sephiroth," said Tseng.

" _Told you_!" Genesis cut in. "He's a pervert—"

"I was watching him for his own _protection_ ," snapped Tseng, some of his cool finally wearing off. "Amongst other things—don't bother asking. I was the one who contacted Zack to retrieve you and Harry from your relatives' house. I'm sure you've heard, but they intended to wait until they were more financially secure to take you in. I advised against them waiting."

"It was you?" said Harry, confused. "It thought Aerith sensed something was wrong with that . . . mental thing she does. She talks to Sephiroth . . ."

Sephiroth had assumed the same thing. It was really the only possibility that had made any sense to them. Even so, he could think of many times Shinra wandered off during the part of summer he spent at the Dursleys'. Shinra was a cat, so he'd never questioned it—cats could be temperamental like that sometimes.

"Wait, you disappeared for _months_ ," said Sephiroth, straightening. "Not that I'm saying I believe you, but if you're my cat—you _were_ my cat—I mean disguised as my cat—"

"Shinra ditched classes for most of the school year," said Genesis irritably, translating what Sephiroth was trying to stutter out. "Explain."

Tseng didn't answer immediately, swerving the car sharply to the right and sending Sephiroth flying into Harry's side. Harry steadied him, pulling the seat belt out to hook Sephiroth in. He felt fleeting embarrassment for being unable to put on his own seat belt, before ruthlessly crushing it down. Harry was only trying to help.

"You'll be filled in once we're out of this forest—"

He was interrupted by Ron's screech, the car jerking violently to avoid something.

"HIT IT!" Ron shouted.

"No," said Tseng calmly, regaining control of the car. "The only two people the creatures in this forest respect, Hagrid and Dumbledore, are away. The castle cannot afford us injuring any of the forest's denizens while they're gone."

"They can just smooth things over when they get back," said Genesis, sounding faint. "Did you even see the size of that thing?"

"Was it another acromantula?" asked Sephiroth, feeling as though gravity had increased on his stomach. "They were following Tseng and I."

Ron let out a wordless sound of terror. Sephiroth took that as a 'yes.'

"The creatures in this forest are not human, they do not think like humans, nor do they have the idealism of humans," said Tseng.

Sephiroth heard his hands clench tighter on the steering wheel, the leather creaking.

"Some will forgive but never forget—others were forget but never truly forgive, even if Hagrid and Dumbledore . . . smooth things over."

Genesis grumbled unintelligibly and, even though Sephiroth's eyes remained blind and useless, he could imagine Genesis crossing his arms and pouting. Ron was absolutely terrified, a mess of squeaks and whimpers.

"You shouldn't just kill animals over instincts," said Sephiroth, feeling the need to vouch for the creatures despite having nearly been killed by them.

"You and Hagrid," said Ron hoarsely. "You're both off your bloody rockers."

"He has a point," Hermione chipped in weakly.

" _Bonkers_."

"Enough bickering," said Tseng. "Put on your seat belts."

There was a mad rush of fumbling hands, their seat belts clicking together, and Harry checked Sephiroth's again despite having just hooked him in. Tseng swung the car around at the wrong moment, sending Harry careening, his elbow jabbing into Sephiroth's side. Genesis's voice had taken on a frightened edge. Sephiroth clung to anything within reach—which included Harry's elbow, though he let go when Harry hissed in pain—as the car started to feel like an egg under pressure, ready to burst at any moment.

"So—"

Genesis faltered as the car took air for ten whole seconds, sending Sephiroth's stomach flying in loops.

"So," he tried again, "Sephiroth's cat is driving the car."

"How much experience _do_ you have driving?" asked Hermione.

There was another pause and thrills of fear shot through Sephiroth.

"I have plenty of experience," said Tseng.

"Is he _laughing_ at us?" said Sephiroth abruptly, strangling down a whimper when the vehicle jerked again. "It sounds like he's _laughing—_ "

"He's not laughing," said Angeal patiently.

"His face is doing this weird twitchy thing, though," said Genesis in heavy suspicion.

" _Would you all shut it!_ " Hermione shrieked. She took a deep breath and then said (Sephiroth assumed she was speaking to Tseng), "And your track record?"

"Mostly clean," said Tseng, and that was _definitely_ amusement in his tone, Sephiroth would bet galleons on it.

"We're all gonna die," said Ron miserably.

The hit something, hard (" _Watch out for that root!"_ ) and a furry, four-legged panicking dog was flung into Sephiroth's lap. He immediately latched onto Fang out of fear of the dog being injured, getting tossed around freely without a restraint.

Branches whipped along the sides of the vehicle, so Sephiroth knew they were heading through a denser part of the forest. That meant they were nearing the grounds of Hogwarts, as the forest grew denser around the edges and thinned out slightly mid-way into it. He'd never gone far enough into the Forbidden Forest to know if it thickened again deeper inside.

"Better watch out for that patch of grass," said Genesis, very sarcastically, "you might anger some forest spirit."

A half-second later, they were all tossed to the side as Tseng avoided something—probably the patch of grass Genesis referred to—and Sephiroth wanted to reach over and smack _both_ of them.

"You bastar—"

Genesis's voice broke off with a yelp.

"Language!" Hermione barked.

"Don't throw books," said Tseng, dry as a desert.

The bumpiness of the ride suddenly smoothed out, and Sephiroth allowed himself to uncoil a little. He didn't remember when he'd started clinging to Harry again, but he detached himself.

"Don't relax," said Genesis gravely, "we're not out of the woods yet."

"We're not?" said Sephiroth frantically. He'd been so sure—

"I'm kidding, we are," he said. "I've just always wanted to say that."

" _You—"_

"Genesis," sighed Angeal.

" _You know I can't see anything—_ "

"Oh, bloody hell, I'm sorry," said Genesis. "I kind of . . . forgot?"

"You _forgot_."

Harry's voice was very calm. Sephiroth tensed again.

"We almost _died_ , Sephiroth's cat is driving the car, there were spiders bigger than us," said Genesis, sounding as though he was ticking them off his fingers. "So yeah, sorry if I blanked on that little detail."

"Oh no," said Ron, "is that Zack?! That's Zack! His eyes are glowing, oh Merlin that's scary looking. Does he look angry to you guys? He looks angry. Is that Fred and George?"

Sephiroth's head was spinning, trying to piece together what happened.

"So, we're out of the forest?" he asked helplessly. "And Zack, Fred, and George are here?"

"Yes," said Angeal, taking mercy on Sephiroth.

Frustration built up so quickly it took Sephiroth by surprise, very nearly spilling out. He was so _sick and tired_ of being unable to tell what was happening right around him, what the others could just _see_ and instantly understand. As if people weren't already difficult enough for Sephiroth understand, now he was limited one of his senses.

"And Zack's angry?" said Ron. "I think? Bloody hell, _his eyes—_ "

"Would you shut up?" snapped Genesis. "Angeal's and my eyes do the same thing. So do Sephiroth's."

"Yeah, but I've never _seen_ Zack's before—"

The acromantulas seemed to have broken Ron's ability to reason his thought process. Sephiroth would have been more worried about Ron's mental health, had he not mentioned Zack—or, more accurately, an _angry_ Zack. He'd never seen Zack truly lose his temper. Whenever something happened, Zack never reacted with more than mild annoyance or a "What can you do?" kind of shrug. _Angry_ Zack was something Sephiroth had never considered and didn't want to even now.

"Why are Fred and George here, though?" Harry whispered.

"You did steal their map?" Hermione suggested.

"I didn't . . . steal it per se," said Genesis hesitantly.

"I thought you said—"

"We're here," said Tseng, cutting across their argument. "Out."

The driver's side door was opened, the breath of footfalls against the ground the only sound Tseng made as he exited, and Sephiroth's side door swung open, startling him. He breathed in the scent of metal and grease and knew it was Zack. There was another sharp, bitter scent that mingled with the others that was familiar, but Sephiroth could never pinpoint it.

"You guys," said Zack, sounding all too calm for Sephiroth's liking. Normally he was energetic, loud, brash. Calm and collected Zack was something Sephiroth wasn't used to, and it alarmed him.

Zack's sighed. Sephiroth's stomach plummeted to his shoes.

"You guys," Zack repeated, as if trying to organize his thoughts and figure out where on _Earth_ he wanted to start. "I said, I literally said—is that how An—how he felt? You're all a bunch of a little puppies, I can't take my eyes off you for a second, can I?"

He paused, allowing the silence to fill with shuffling feet. Sephiroth imagined quite a few glances were exchanged.

"'We'll explore the forest together' was pretty easy to understand, yeah?" said Zack finally. There was a murmured reply, but he wasn't finished. "Do you guys care to explain _why_ you decided to take off without me? Because I can't imagine why. It's not like I'm not fun. I'm fun, right? Tseng? Buddy?"

Tseng remained silent. Zack made a little whining noise that made Sephiroth wish he could dig a deep, dark hole and bury himself in it forever.

"That's—that's not it," said Harry. "We were just . . ."

"We were afraid you'd turn us around at the first sight of danger," said Hermione in a great rush, "because that would be the _responsible_ thing to do, but we've got to take risks—"

She cut herself off sharply.

For a long, torturous moment, Zack said nothing. Sephiroth willed himself to fade away, vanish, cease to exist—

Zack snorted loudly, interrupting Sephiroth's depressive inner montage.

"You guys . . . It's gonna take a lot more than whatever the Forbidden Forest has to throw at me to make me give up."

"He doesn't give up," said Tseng.

"You've got that right," said Zack. The grin was almost _audible_.

"Aren't you angry?" said Hermione hesitantly. "And—and what are Fred and George doing here?"

"That's a story for later," said Zack. "When we're not standing out in the cold, at night, outside the Forbidden Forest. It's way past your curfew and by all rights, I should take you straight to your professors."

"Wait!" said Harry, clearly panicking. "Don't take all of us—this was my idea. I strung everyone else in it, we'd get expelled for this, I don't want us all getting in trouble—"

"That's fine," said Zack, "because I didn't plan on taking you to your professors. I'm going to take Sephiroth up to the hospital—don't argue, Sephiroth—"

Sephiroth snapped his mouth shut.

"—Tseng, can you get the others to their dorms? And I know you want to chew out Fred and George, but remember they're kids."

"They may be children," said Tseng stiffly, "but they are children learning arts that could kill. While they are under my tutelage, they are more than children. They are Turks."

The air filled with a chilly kind of quiet, the hand on Sephiroth's shoulder gripping a little tighter. Zack's disapproval was blatantly obvious, even to Sephiroth. He didn't know what a Turk was, or what it entailed, but Fred and George seemed to be in something that was, perhaps, over their heads. He couldn't imagine how that happened.

Same as how he couldn't imagine how Tseng was his cat.

"Right," said Zack heavily. "Turks. . ."

Sephiroth waited for Zack to say something, for an explanation, for anything. Instead, Zack released some of the pressure from his grip, patting his shoulder.

"Let's go," he said.

It wasn't until they were halfway back up the grounds toward Hogwarts, the others a quiet hum of conversation behind them, that Sephiroth's mind fully kick-started into action.

"Wait," he said. "Wait, what about the spiders? Aragog knew about the victims in the last set of killings, I need to tell Harry—"

"It can wait," said Zack.

"But—"

"Sephiroth, you are covered in spider webs, you've got scratches and bruises, and look like you've lost a week of sleep," said Zack bluntly. "I highly doubt there'll be another attack tonight, so all the explanations can wait until morning. After you've had _sleep_."

He chuckled.

"You're starting to look like a panda, with those bags under your eyes."

Sephiroth grumbled a complaint under his breath, reaching a hand up to brush along under his eyes. He wondered if the contours of his face always felt like that, or if it was truly shadows from sleepless nights. He raked his hand through tangled hair, trying in vain to tame it. For a terrifying second, he was afraid he'd lost Aerith's gift in the forest. He found it wound stubbornly around a couple strands of hair, hopelessly entangled into his hair.

"About my cat," he said, because late at night and outside the castle or not, Shinra was _his cat_ , his companion, and that was important to him.

"We didn't know about Tseng at first, if that's what you're wondering," said Zack. "He's an animagus, and he's always been good at hiding. When he contacted us earlier last year, we were . . . shocked. To say the least."

"So he's really . . . my cat," said Sephiroth. "Or my cat's him."

Zack hesitated, then—

"Yes."

They didn't talk after that, walking up the rest of the way to the castle. Hogwarts was dead quiet, everyone in their dormitories sleeping. Even the professors seemed to have finally turned in, though Sephiroth suspected Snape was down in his potions lab, brewing away even at this late hour. It wasn't until they were headed up the steps to the hospital, immersed in darkness despite Sephiroth knowing there was a line of windows down that corridor, that he couldn't hold back his words.

Nearly a week of keeping it clamped down, hiding his worries, trying his best not to bother the others, and it all sort of gushed out. Once he was talking, he could hardly stop.

"I still can't see."

"Seph—"

"It's been a while, Madam Pomfrey said I'd start seeing blurry shapes by now, but nothing's changed. Absolutely _nothing_ has changed. I can't see, I can't _see_. Hermione had that book with the dots—what's it called? Braille? I was trying to learn it but it's not _easy_. I can't just sit and read a book, Zack, I've got to learn a whole new language and—and I thought I'd be better _before_ having to learn, but now it's looking like I'll never—I'll never . . ."

"Sephiroth—"

"What if there's something wrong with me?" said Sephiroth, stopping halfway up the steps, freezing. Cold tingles were descending his arms and fingers, like pins and needles after the circulation was cut off for too long. "What if, even though it works for other people, it doesn't work for me because _I'm not normal?!_ What if I'm stuck like this?"

"Hey, man, breathe. Just take a moment and breathe. Don't worry—"

" _I can't stop worrying!_ "

He'd tried so hard to take everything in strides, to put on a brave face. At the end of the day, he couldn't tell whether his face was really brave or not.

"I can't—I can't—"

His breath was hitching in his lungs. He curled in on himself when he realized he couldn't fully inhale, as if there was a tight vice wrapped around his entire torso.

Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him in to an even warmer chest, Zack's pointy chin nestled in his hair. He didn't realize Zack was talking him through breathing until he heard Zack's voice, calming and steadily instructing him to breathe in sync with him.

" . . . five six, out. In, seven eight, out . . ."

Sephiroth curled his arms around Zack's neck and tried to stop shaking like a leaf in a cold, winter wind.

"Feeling a little better?" asked Zack, rubbing small circles into Sephiroth's upper back.

Sephiroth, unable to muster the energy to speak, nodded.

"That's good," said Zack, relief sharp in his voice. "Hang on, buddy."

He tightened his arms slightly, rising up, up—Sephiroth clung to his neck. He would have been embarrassed, being carried like a baby, but he was just so tired. So worn out, drained. He didn't think he could take another step on his own anyway.

"I know it's not seeming all that great," said Zack quietly, his voice a gentle rumble in Sephiroth's ear, where it was pressed to Zack's collar. "I know. But have faith in Madam Pomfrey and Aerith—they won't let you down."

Sephiroth wanted to reply, to say " _I'll try_ ," but his tongue seemed sluggish and everything was slow. He would have fallen asleep, if it wasn't for the strange rasp in the back of his head. A sound that rang a familiar bell, making him stir, until it grew loud enough for him to identify.

"Is that a snake?" Zack whispered, confirming Sephiroth's suspicions.

"Izzasmill?"

"What?" said Zack, with a startled laugh.

"Is it small?" asked Sephiroth, trying to fight past the weariness.

"Yeah, it's pretty small. Looks like a rat snake."

"That's because it is," said Sephiroth, wriggling out of Zack's arms. The ground was unwelcome under his feet, but he walked toward the snake regardless. "I'm sorry," he said to the snake. "I promised to let you out and I forgot."

He had never noticed in the past how, when a snake talked to him, he didn't quite hear the words with his ears. It was more like the snake's voice wrapped around the back of his head and the language just _clicked_ in his brain. As if there was a cheat sheet in there, somewhere, telling him all the answers.

" _No matter, no matter_ ," the snake said, sounding distracted. " _We were on our way . . . so close . . ._ "

"We?" said Sephiroth.

" _We, us, ourselves,_ " said the snake, " _all we ever were. Snake._ "

"Okay . . .?" Sephiroth didn't understand in the slightest, but he tried not to sound confused. Luckily, the snake was too focused on something else to care much.

" _Nearly there . . . we're so close . . . We can hear them._ "

"Hear who?"

"Sephiroth?"

Sephiroth jerked away from the snake, turning to Zack, who sounded spooked.

"Sorry," said Sephiroth on reflex. "I was just—it's lost, I think—"

"Lost?" said Zack, before letting out a short _huh_. "I've never heard you speak in parseltongue before. It's . . . interesting."

If that wasn't discouraging, nothing was.

Despite Sephiroth trying to convince the snake to let him take it outside, the snake was stubbornly set on finding its own way. Zack ended up siding with the snake (startling Sephiroth, who'd never expected Zack to agree with something he couldn't even understand), guiding Sephiroth up the stairs again with a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Are you feeling better?" asked Zack, as he handed Sephiroth a calming draught once they were back in the hospital.

He wasn't, but he didn't feel like voicing it. Sephiroth cradled the cup in his hands, the aroma of the potion sweet and faint. It reminded him of the little white and yellow flowers in the corners of Aerith's garden, tucked away in the shade. They didn't smell as sharply as the other flowers, but they were small and gentle.

"Get some sleep, buddy," said Zack, ruffling Sephiroth's hair up again. "I'll sit here the whole night, don't worry about a thing."

Sleep. It wasn't something that came easily to Sephiroth, even on the good nights. Still, with the calming draught and the tea Madam Pomfrey brewed when she wandered into the hospital to check up on him (despite it being well past midnight), he managed to nod off soon enough.

"Well, what did you expect?"

The sound of water lapping against sandy banks greeted Sephiroth upon opening his eyes. His first sign something was wrong was that the sky stared back at him, blue and crystal clear and more beautiful than anything else it the world. The gentle whisper of pine needles was joined by the poster-perfect sight of a forest, green underbrush and so much _sight_ it almost blinded him again with its existence. He had almost forgotten how amazing the world was, how much he didn't experience with his sightless eyes.

"Cheating death as you did, you're lucky you got off so easily."

There was a _humph_ of amusement, feet strolling across the ground behind Sephiroth. He didn't have to turn to know who, or what, it was.

"You again," said Sephiroth coolly, ignoring the phantom burn in his sternum, the memory of a gleaming blade running clean through his chest—his life, slipping away. "What do you want?"

"Death is an unforgiving master," said his other. "You— _we—_ should know that better than anyone."

"I don't know anything," said Sephiroth. His voice was surprisingly steady, like a boat that remained afloat in an ocean threatening to capsize him. He didn't know how it was possible, but he was going to ride it out as long as he could.

(Until the inevitable break.)

"Is that a note of annoyance?" asked his other, ever smiling as if he knew something Sephiroth didn't. He _did_ know something Sephiroth didn't, and it infuriated him. "I remember the time you didn't want to know anything. Wasn't it hardly a year ago? How the tables have turned on you."

"Things change," said Sephiroth, as if that was an acceptable response. It wasn't, it was just filler words because he had no idea what to say, and he didn't want to think of how _empty_ he felt at the moment. He wondered just when the feeling had drained from his limbs and how he didn't notice.

"Oh, yes, they certainly do," purred his other. Swift, almost invisible to Sephiroth's eyes, he seemed to appear in front of Sephiroth. A hand under his chin, staring him directly in the eyes. "Defeated, disfigured, broken, and now you're disabled. My, oh my, how do you even manage?"

Sephiroth slapped his hand away.

"I'm not disabled."

"Not denying the other labels, are you?"

Was he denying them?

Could he?

"I suppose it's only fitting," said his other, and somehow he sounded far harsher than he did seconds ago. There was true, bitter venom in his words. "You never do see the signs until it's far, far too late—how blind you truly are."

"Why are you like this?" Sephiroth snarled, rising to his feet. Death or not, he was thoroughly _tired_ of this man haunting his mind, his dreams, everything. "What do you _want?"_

"So curious . . ."

His footsteps were even and graceful, like a cat, and even without Masamune gripped in his hands he looked deadly. It was as if every movement was already mapped out and executed flawlessly.

"I'll admit it's an improvement to your previous willing ignorance. . . . Do you see that?"

He pointed up, to where one large tree winding farther than the others. Its sweeping branches hung over the pond Sephiroth had woken next to. He couldn't tell if it was the same icy pond he fell into the last time he was in the same place. It wasn't iced over and looked normal enough. Then again, since when was anything here normal?

The gloved hand was motioning to a bulbous orb, wrapped in the tender grasp of several vines. It glowed luminously, tiny shapes like grains of sand shifting along the inside of the membrane. After a few moments of watching the flickering shapes, Sephiroth realized they were images of _people_. A man, dark haired pulled back in a short ponytail—he looked vaguely familiar.

 _Tseng_.

There was another, with red hair and a sly smile—Genesis.

 _His memories_.

They hung above the pond, trapped in an orb. At first glance, the membrane had looked soft, like the outside of a grape—but when the sun shone on it, it glinted like hard diamond.

"Your answers, at your grasp . . ."

Sephiroth jumped, his other appearing inches away from him. A deep chuckle reverberated behind him and, for a split second, he loathed the man. It burned like a dying star, and then flitted out.

"What are you willing to do to get them? That container will not be destroyed through any normal means, and you'll not have Masamune to do your work for you this time."

Sephiroth barely flinched at the reminder of what happened at the end of his first year. He wasn't sure if that was an improvement or not.

"Will you leave the memories in there to rot, incapable of doing what you must to destroy the cage? Or you will you destroy the cage and learn the truth? Either way, your path leads to destruction and rot."

"Why's it always rot and destruction with you?" asked Sephiroth softly, looking down at his own hands. So often when he looked at his pale skin, they seem superimposed with blood. Now, they were just—hands. Small, too small for someone his age, normal. Just hands, not something capable of murder and destruction. And yet, they were just that.

In the end, his mind space was _his_ mind space, so it wasn't too shocking when a weapon appeared in his hands. It wasn't Masamune's gleaming blade, eager to reap blood, nor was it his wand, trusty and sparking at his command. A triple-barreled shotgun, the end shaved off, weighed heavily in his hands. It was a semi-automatic. He didn't know how he knew, but it seemed obvious enough.

He raised the gun, hardly pausing for a breath, and shot. The orb shattered, memories seeming to shift into ordinary sand the moment they were exposed to air and falling into the lake. He didn't move, waiting. The air seemed to have frozen with him. Then—

"You really do have a good aim, don't you?"

"Was—wasn't something supposed to—I don't feel any different—"

"You went with destroying the cage, in the end," hummed his other. His head was tilted contemplatively, silver bangs brushed against his skin.

"I freed the memories," said Sephiroth.

"You destroyed the container," said his other. "It was quite unique, wasn't it? You've never seen anything like it outside of here. You never will again, either. It's . . . quite a shame."

" _Quite_ ," Sephiroth bit out. "However, it was only a plant."

"It was life," said his other. "Something beautiful, destroyed for your personal gain. Who would it have hurt, if it hung there, glimmering in the sunlight forever?"

"It was a _plant_ ," Sephiroth repeated, the clinking of metal alerting him to his hands shaking. The gun was creaking in his grip.

"And who are you to value the measure of life?"

 _Who was that man to give him morality lessons?_ Sephiroth wanted to ask, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth, he might just scream instead. He could hardly stand, something like horror gripping the strength from his limbs, his knees hitting the ground hard. The little shards of the plant had disappeared into the water's depths, lost forever. It had indeed been beautiful. _Before he shattered it into pieces_.

"It appears we're done here," and the older phantom sounded so amused, so _satisfied_.

The fury from before sprang up again and Sephiroth moved so suddenly he had the pleasure of seeing surprise briefly flash across his other's face. If that look of shock was the last thing Sephiroth ever saw—well, he might not be so disappointed after all.

"We're not even _close_ to done."

"Your consciousness says otherwise," said his other, recovering quick as a snap from a whip.

Sephiroth looked down to see his hands (still small, still normal) crumbling away, turning to sand. As if he was like those memories, fading away.

"I'd be more than pleased to carry on this conversation at a later time," said his other, smug as a cat that caught a bird and ate it, too.

Sephiroth would really rather not talk to the man ever again, if he had his way. (Since when did he ever have his way?)

Days passed after he awoke. Explanations ensued. Sephiroth wished he could say he remembered much of it, but—well, he constantly felt he was teetering the edge between consciousness and unconsciousness. He knew the others were worried for him, but he couldn't seem to pull away from it.

"A . . . Turk?"

Ron sounded completely bewildered. Sephiroth didn't need sight to know his nose was wrinkled up, uncomprehending.

"You've got that right," said Fred proudly.

They were seated in the Gryffindor common room. Madam Pomfrey had finally just let Sephiroth go, unable to convince Zack, Cloud, Aerith, or even Sephiroth that he should go to St. Mungo's to have his eyes checked up on. Sephiroth didn't know what they could do anyway—he really was lucky to be alive as it was, having stared into the eyes of death and survived.

"You're a Turk," said Genesis flatly. "A highly advanced spy, occasionally assassinating people, _that_ kind of Turk?"

"Well, we haven't killed anyone," said George.

"You don't deny you've spied on people?" said Angeal disapprovingly.

"Well, we did keep a close eye on all of you," said Fred. "About that . . ."

"We tried to get someone to you sooner, last year," said George. "We . . ."

" . . . We could have been faster," said Fred.

What were they apologizing for? Not getting a professor to go down into the chamber of Erised fast enough to witness Sephiroth murder a professor? Granted, the professor was possessed by Voldemost, but still—the point stood.

The conversation lulled on and Sephiroth blanked out. At some point, they'd weaseled out everything he learned from Aragog, about the bathroom and the other students' murders. Though it was a giant revelation, it left them with more questions than answers, and none of them knew who'd stolen Tom Riddle's diary. Eventually, the others parted ways, Hermione dragging Harry and Ron off to study with her, while Angeal quietly read a book across from them by the fire. Fred and George disappeared outside the common room with a quick, "Turk's business—top secret, sorry."

It left Sephiroth with Genesis, sitting by him on the sofa. Rather than talking about the latest book he read, or trying to get Sephiroth to memorize another line of _Loveless_ , Genesis seemed contented to silence. It was strange and new, but not entirely unwelcome.

Then something cold and spherical was pressed into Sephiroth's hands.

"I keep forgetting you—well, here," said Genesis awkwardly. "Um, what do you feel?"

"It's a . . ." Sephiroth trailed off, the sensation of _waves, salt, crashing, foam, ocean_ , invaded his mind. He could almost see the ocean, untamed waves slamming against a sandy beach, leaving sand dollars and gems from the depths on the seashore. It left him breathless in awe.

"I was trying to do that thing with the magic you were describing," said Genesis. "But then I remembered that magic Cloud and Zack were talking about—materia. And, well. That happened."

"You . . . made this?" said Sephiroth, turning the cool marble over in his hand. It was like standing on the beach, by the ocean, wind in his hair.

"How is it?" asked Genesis, sounding almost nervous.

"It's . . . it's amazing," said Sephiroth. "More than that. I can—I can _feel_ the ocean. It's just _there_. How?"

"I wanted you to experience it, even if you can't see it," said Genesis. He took the marble from Sephiroth's hand, only to replace it with another.

Instantly, warmth flooded over Sephiroth. The kind of heat that belonged to Genesis's flames, destructive to only what he commanded it to destroy. He could see the wreath of fire that sprouted when Genesis was angry, when he was happy, when he was over-excited—when he'd burned up the Devil's Snare. The multicolored fire, like that of a phoenix gearing up for a light show.

"I tried focusing fire on that one," said Genesis.

"I could tell," said Sephiroth weakly. "How many of these did you make?"

"A few," said Genesis, a note short of shy.

'A few' turned into several dozen, and before they knew it, they'd spent the entire day testing out new materia. Sephiroth didn't realize he'd dozed off again until he was woken by Harry curling up at his side. He could hear Angeal mumbling something in his sleep next to Genesis and, if Sephiroth's nose wasn't wrong (it never was), Hermione and Ron had joined them on the sofa as well.

It was a dog pile like none other. They all slept better than they had in weeks.

* * *

 **A/N: WELL. Ok.**

 **I can explain.**

 **You see, night shift kind of sucks ass big time and it was peak season at a return center. In a warehouse. So I was sleeping a lot. And I had money to buy a PS4 and play all the games of my dreams, so. (KINGDOM HEARTS 3 NEW TRAILER ANYONE?)**

 **Not to mention the trailer for the new season of Voltron...  
**

 **But on a serious note, it really was hectic. I'll spare the details, but yeah. I can't guarantee I'll be able to update in a timely fashion anymore, but I'm _praying_ to mighty Cthulu it won't be another four months.  
**

 **And now to answer reviews! (You guys are my reason for living, you know that? LOL).**

 **kit:** **Nope, Aragog wasn't hurt! (I'm so sorry it took so long T_T)**

 **Jaron: I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! I hope this new one is good, lol. I love writing blind characters, tbh, it's a unique experience. It makes me realize how reliant we are, as humans, on sight. And yep, I've heard of Pandora Hearts! I actually started reading the manga, but got sidetracked. I might give it another read after I finish Tokyo Ghoul XD  
**

 **Guest: "** Awesome chapter! Poor Sephiroth being carried around like a sack of Potatoes. Harry really should have waited for Zack, Cloud, and Aerith to come along. Anyway I can't wait to see what happens next!" **Yeah, they should have waited. But they're impatient and kids, so. They don't listen to their elders. XD**

 **EdelweisSagaZ: Thanks! *dramatic announcer voice* Will Sephiroth ever get his eyesight back? Find out hopefully sooner than later! (I'm terrible, I'm so sorry XD).**

 **Guest: "** TSENG! :D" **FJEKLAFJELKWA FEWAL _TSENG_. Literally my reaction, ngl. I love Tseng too much, lol.**

 **Toby: You're welcome! Zack is always welcome in any story.** **^-^**

 **Guest: "** the plot...it THICKENS...i near gasped when tseng showed up i was NOT expecting that lol" **Yeah, he likes to do that. In plot bunnies, in buildings, in random houses, in craters-too soon. But yeah, Tseng's awesome XD**

 **Cast: Thanks! Yeah, I'm sorry for taking so long. T_T**

 **Once again, though I'm sure you guys are tired of hearing it (believe me, I've run into plenty of stories that take forever to finish or are never finished, I know the feeling), but I really am. I never forgot about this story for a second and it really means something to me, so. Hopefully the next chapter comes out sooner.**

 **For now, I need to sign off because I'm like barely alive I'm so tired.**

 **Caio~~**

 **Edit 7/21/18: Basilisks aren't a thing yet, Sephiroth. You don't know that. (It's all fixed up. Sort of. More revisions coming later).**


	24. Chapter 24

24

Sephiroth walked the halls of school with the air of a boy who'd been critically ill for weeks on end and reveled that he was finally healthy and hale. At the same time, it was as if every little ache and twinge was an omen. The smallest whisper of something being off left him rooted to the ground. His mind flew into a panicked stream of repeating assurances that he was just fine.

Just fine. Just fine. Just fine.

Everything was just fine.

He would like to say he'd learned his lesson: that keeping his dreams to himself did nothing but harm himself. It would be a lie if he said so. Something about speaking was like forcing foreign words from his mouth to a group of strangers who didn't know the beginning of his language. They would stare and stare, open-eyed and confused, until they returned his speech in a garbled imitation of what he tried to explain to them.

What could he do, when nothing was right anymore? Baubles filled with dreams and ocean breezes was a small comfort, bringing fleeting peace to his shattering mind. In the end, every night, he was left with his quiet, painfully and dangerously quiet, mind. His thoughts vibrated as if on a high frequency, threatening to break apart what little sanity he felt he could grip onto.

How had things gone from almost alright to so out of control in so little time?

The world was blurry shapes, flashes of black and white but no color, and Sephiroth thought the answer might have hit him again.

Then everything was confusing again. He opened his eyes, blinked, the darkness was pricked with the monochromatic shine of black and white. The apocalypse rendered his mind yet again.

"No colors," sighed Madam Pomfrey, as if it was unfortunate, but expected. She was sad and understanding, one of her warm, lined hands rested against his head. The other was faintly pressed under his left eye, hardly any pressure, only caring reassurance that she was there. "We can try a few more concoctions, but if it hasn't returned now . . ."

The world descended into a hurricane sickly pallor.

Sephiroth's vision, weak and shaky and all colorless, wasn't getting better anymore. It had come to a stand-still, leaving him squinting and unsure. He could sort of read, the blurred words slowly, agonizingly, conjoining from the triples they had become into legible sentences.

"You may just need more time," said Madam Pomfrey, yet another week of no progress later. "I'll try another concoction. I've sent for medi-wizards from St. Mungo's, to see if they're is anything they can do."

The man sent from the wizarding hospital was kind. Patient. He couldn't help. It was a miracle Sephiroth had survived, anyway, so living out the rest of his days with drastically weakened, colorless vision was a paltry sacrifice when compared to the alternative.

Or so he was told. Repeatedly.

It was laughable, how he couldn't seem to care.

The little baubles of ocean and fire and earthy, flowery scents often were what dragged him back to reality. He could stare out the window—where he knew the window was—at something that might have been clouds and the even less clear lake that seemed centuries away from him. His quill was heavy in his hand.

Professor Lupin's chocolates were nice, too. Defense Against the Dark Arts was less of a joke and more of an actual class with him teaching. His voice was always soothing and calm, listening to every garbled word that escaped Sephiroth's aching, swollen throat.

The smell of the dungeons, dark and cool and damp, was a constant that lingered by his elbow day in and day out. It was mixed with the strong musk of cologne, too strong for Sephiroth's nose and always leaving him on the edge of a sneeze. One day, he was going to tell Draco to—well, not to stop wearing it. It smelled good. But maybe less of it.

"This is . . ."

Cloud hadn't left yet, but Zack had returned to his job. He'd used all his vacation time running around Hogwarts, flitting around Sephiroth in a fit of worry. Now, Cloud was the only one remaining. He was a quiet, usually solemn, presence always somewhere nearby. Except when Sephiroth deigned to finally show Cloud one of Genesis's little inventions.

"Materia," Cloud mumbled. The gray (shiny and red, like the brightest sunset, or so he was told) sphere was turned over and over his his hands. Black leather gloves rubbed it until Sephiroth was sure Cloud would polish it from existence. "Lightning. It's different than normal materia."

Genesis perked up, setting his book down. Not that he'd really been reading it, but Sephiroth would let him believe he was convincing.

"How's it different?" he asked.

Cloud turned it over again gingerly, the little sparks of electricity like cracks in reality to Sephiroth's flawed eyes, but said nothing in reply. He eventually returned the little materia to Genesis, mumbling a "Good job," to him. There was a troubled undercurrent to his tone that dimmed some of Genesis's eagerness.

"Be careful making them," said Cloud. "And don't hand them out to people."

"Wasn't planning on it," said Genesis. For a moment, Sephiroth almost thought it was because Genesis was being responsible. Then he threw that thought into the gutter with, "I'm gonna charge a decent price for these. Friends get a discount, of course."

Sephiroth wished he could see the twitch that passed over Cloud's face.

Predictably, the next fifteen minutes was spent listening to Cloud inform Genesis why, exactly, he shouldn't just go releasing ground-breaking magical discoveries like that to the public. Especially when they were capable of such raw destructive powers in some cases. Being able to summon a huge lightning storm wasn't something that should be given to a first year, for example.

"Aerith will be curious about this," mumbled Cloud once he finished chewing Genesis out.

Something about Cloud must have been enough to thoroughly chastise Genesis, because he didn't grumble even one irritable retort or bother to complain. It probably had something to do with the _weight_ of Cloud's stare, the way his presence seemed to steal the air of the room. Even without full color, in a mess of blurry shapes, his movements and emotions were broadcast clear as day.

He remained a shadow for the next two weeks, which turned into a torturous headache of studying and trying his best to understand everything Hermione was tutoring him in. With everything that had happened, between the forest and Tseng and apparently the twins being part of an organization called the Turks (did that have something to do with Turkey? Were they avid poultry eaters?) he had all but forgotten that Hogwarts was still a school and not a battleground.

"Just recite everything out loud," said Hermione hurriedly. She drilled him through Braille daily with ruthlessness only she could possess towards studying. He didn't have the energy to protest, so he usually ended up spending long hours of the day trapped in piles of dusty library books.

The long hours of boredom was something of a blessing in disguise, though, because everyone else seemed to try and stay away when they were having their study sessions. Genesis, for as much as he loved reading, wasn't in the least bit interested in watching Sephiroth struggle through his fourth hour of cramming.

It worked to bring him a little peace and quiet, his over-strained ears more often than not aching. He didn't have to experience the awful buzzing of potent, almost palpable, magical energy that Genesis generated when he created those materia, as well. While the end result was fascinating and wonderful, Sephiroth could only handle so much magic saturating the air before he felt like he was suffocating on an inordinately hot day.

Those kinds of stiflingly hot days weren't too far off, it seemed, in reality. Each morning carried more and more of the scent of warm weather. A fresh, crisp breeze became a summer gale, driving them to seek out shadows under the budding trees.

Harry sighed and closed his book, finally giving up on studying for that day. He pushed his glasses up his nose, face angled to look up at the sky, which he had helpfully informed Sephiroth was clear and brilliantly blue.

"We're so close to _finding_ the chamber," he said. "It's all we have left."

"Or we could, you know, _not_ go looking for the thing that's trying to kill us?" said Ron. "Just a suggestion."

"A wise one," said Angeal.

"We can't avoid the issue and hope it goes away," Genesis argued.

"Oh, we definitely could," Ron grumbled. "You're not going to, but we could."

"Just remember if I get caught doing something like what we did in the forest," said Sephiroth, "Zack and Cloud will be the last of our worries. Madam Pomfrey will send me home tied to a cot."

"And we won't be able to sneak around them again," said Angeal quickly, intercepting whatever one of the others was going to say before they had a chance to speak. "No, not even with the cloak, Harry."

"If we still had that map," said Genesis sourly.

"Which you _stole_ , I haven't forgotten that detail."

"I bartered," Genesis corrected defensively.

"Blackmailed."

"And your point is . . .?"

Angeal let out a wordless sound of frustration that sent Harry into a fit of laughter. (And Sephiroth realized he couldn't see his brother's smile anymore).

They were snapped out of the conversation by Hermione's exclamation, Sephiroth thankful because he'd been about to go into another downward spiral of circular, despairing thoughts. There was a rustle of pages and he knew she was frantically fumbling through a book. Granted, he probably didn't need to even hear to know that: Hermione and books went hand in hand.

"That's it!" she murmured reverently. "I've been reading it up all day—the books I needed finally became available—and it's so obvious, it's been staring us in the face all day . . ."

"Cut to the chase?" said Genesis.

"The monster," she said. "Slytherin's monster. I know what it is."

"Stop with the drama," said Genesis impatiently.

Sephiroth glared at the blob of messy hair he was fairly sure was Genesis. As if he was one of speak about dramatics.

"It's a basilisk," she said. "Snake-like, big, it petrifies everything that sees its reflection, and _spiders are scared of it_."

Genesis yanked the book from her hands and she let out a protest.

"It dies at the crow of a rooster," he said. "No wonder all of Hagrid's chickens were killed. Whoever did this covered all their bases."

"How has no one died yet?" said Ron, sounding terrified.

"Think about it," Harry replied, his vibrating with contained excitement like a container put into a microwave for too long. "No one's stared it directly in the eyes. Mrs Norris—there was water on the floor that night. Justin saw it through Nearly Headless Nick—and Nick can't die _twice_. Colin must've tried to take a picture of it."

"He must've been trying to get evidence," said Angeal quietly. "Clear Harry's name."

They fell silent.

"We're gonna get this thing," said Harry. "And the heir of Slytherin that's ordering it."

"I hate to be the voice of reason—always—but that's suicidal?!" said Ron.

The conversation was about to go in a full loop. Sephiroth played with the ends of his hair, braided down his back and tied off with Aerith's ribbon. He remembered the ghostly, lamp-like eyes of the basilisk. He stared directly into the thing's eyes.

So how wasn't he dead?

It killed humans instantly.

There was one blaring explanation that made something heavy and sickening drop in his stomach: _he simply wasn't human_.

He'd always thought—altered, at the most. Changed. Enhanced. But that wouldn't stop him being human, right? He'd still be susceptible to human deaths.

Looking beyond the long, impossibly stormy ocean of Sephiroth's own inner turmoil, the rest of the school was in generally good spirits. The mandrakes were ready for harvesting, there hadn't been an attack in weeks, and neither Sephiroth or Harry had heard any snake-like voices in their heads. It was too easy for Sephiroth to let himself slip into a warming false sense of security, as if he was an ostrich burying its head in sand.

Still, no matter how hard he tried to believe everything was fine, that everything was perfectly _okay_ , (that Cloud and Zack appearing had Hogwarts had been enough to scare away anyone trying to hurt them), doubt shadowed him. It curled around the fragile shards of peace that lay in his mind and cracked them even further.

There were no voices in the night, but that did stop his mind whispering: _It's only just begun_.

The catalyst came with impeccable timing.

Students' nerves were strung at their highest, the exams only three days away, and not a single one of them looked remotely assured of themselves. A few pitiable sixth years, going through their NEWTs, walked around with zombified expressions, their hair sticking up in every which way, a hopelessness on their face that reflected in Sephiroth's heart. Three days was too close to pretend the exams were still ages away, but too far away for him to quite resign himself. An uncomfortable middle ground of procrastination and wanting to get it all over with settled over him.

It was only natural that Slytherin's monster would attack.

One final, merciless strike.

Only that time it wasn't just close to home.

" _Ginny_."

Ron's voice was hoarse as he slumped down a wall, his legs going limp under him. They were in an abandoned classroom, hiding from the gathering of teachers outside. Ron looked as though he had another onslaught of slugs in his system.

"My sister," he croaked.

"Do you think the basilisk took her?" whispered Harry.

"Whatever it was, it's dying," Genesis snarled, ignoring their frantic shushes in favor of his hands bursting into flames. He made no move to stifle them, the fire flaring with his anger. Sephiroth watched the odd way the heat distortions bent his colorless vision.

The students were all rounded up in their respective houses and word was sent for the Hogwarts Express to pick them up. The Weasley siblings, sans Percy, who'd locked himself in his dormitory and wouldn't come out, were all huddled together on a sofa. Sephiroth couldn't see their faces, couldn't imagine how horrified they looked, and almost wanted to reach out and feel their faces to tell. To try and emphasize. If it was Harry and he was them—well, he knew what he'd do. He'd paid that price.

Hours passed. Students started to trickle back to their dorms, slowly but surely, until it was just them left. Then George and Fred left them, both exhausted and worn, mentally and physically. Sephiroth sat all but glued to Harry's side, Angeal at his other side.

"Should we—should we try and go to Professor Lupin?" said Hermione tearfully. "With what information we know?"

" _No_ ," snapped Genesis so harshly Sephiroth could feel her jump. "No. I'm killing the thing myself. And if—if she's really—"

His voice broke.

Sephiroth pressed a little farther into Harry's side, a near physical pain aching in his chest in response to whatever hell that was ripping apart Genesis's mind.

"Well—" Angeal stopped, cleared his throat, and hurried on, "Well—we know there are two possible locations the chamber could be at. Going—going off what Sephiroth heard from Aragog. Two places people were killed."

"The third floor girl's bathroom, and some random classroom," said Genesis bitterly. "One _clearly_ doesn't have a giant ominous chamber entrance. The other we have no idea where to begin looking for."

"Then we start with the bathroom," said Angeal stonily. "Myrtle might shed some light."

"The ghost," said Genesis flatly.

"The ghost of a girl who died there," said Angeal.

Genesis was up and out the portrait before anyone could say another word.

No one tried to stop them. Everyone in the common room radiated feelings of pity and sympathy for the Weasleys, so much so that Sephiroth could all but sense it. He suspected it wasn't helping Genesis's mood in the slightest.

The halls were mostly barren. All the professors were busy, though Sephiroth was greatly surprised they managed to avoid Cloud's attention. Either that, or he was watching from a safe distance. Whatever the case, they weren't going to allow themselves to be stopped. Genesis would throw a punch or fireballs—or both—before he let someone stop them. Sephiroth was inclined to agree with him.

They passed what used to be Gilderoy Lockhart's office and Sephiroth gave a little shudder, took a flight of stairs down to the third floor, and one last corridor led them to the girl's bathroom. At first, Sephiroth was worried they'd have to search for a while for Moaning Myrtle and be caught before they learned anything of substance.

His fears turned out to be baseless, as they found her perched on a toilet in one of the stalls. She was mulish and dreary as ever, a pout fixed firmly on her face. A little wariness slipped into her expression when she noticed them standing around her stall. Sephiroth remembered at the last moment how she reacted when she saw him and ducked to the side, out of view.

"Oh, it's you. What do you want this time?"

"How did you die?" asked Genesis bluntly, his eyes threatening to burn holes into Myrtle, regardless of the fact she was a ghost.

Instead of sounding offended, as Sephiroth had expected, or even depressed, she was elated.

" _Ooooh,_ it was dreadful," she gushed. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden—I was scared, see, and Olive Horby was bullying me again about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. It was a _boy_ and he was speaking funny. In a different language. The door unlocked and opened, and then— _I died_."

"That's it?" Genesis was nonplussed. "You died. Just like that?!"

"How did you die?" asked Harry calmly.

"No idea," Myrtle replied, less weepy than she had probably been since she died. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes—"

Those haunting, ghostly yellow eyes. Sephiroth really had stared death in the face that night.

"—My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away . . ." She let out a giggle. "I haunted Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" said Harry.

He was pointed toward the sink in front of her toilet. Myrtle wandered after him and too late did Sephiroth realize she could see him. Her wail all but rattled the walls.

" _You!_ " she cried. "How could you bring _him_ here?!"

Harry tried to speak, to say something to assuage her onslaught of despair, but it fell on deaf, ghostly ears. She let out one, long cry and the sound of a toilet flushing informed Sephiroth she'd officially vacated the bathroom.

"Will anyone be offended if I say good riddance?" said Sephiroth in a low drawl that reminded himself of Draco.

"Not really," Genesis replied.

"Nope," Ron agreed.

"You're all terrible," Angeal laughed despite himself.

"Do you see anything?" asked Hermione, hovering next to Harry.

"There's a snake on this facet," Harry murmured.

Sephiroth brushed his fingers against the cool metal, feeling the grooves and dips of something that did, indeed, feel like a snake. The fangs were particular sharp, as if they'd been sharpened at some point.

"Say something in parseltongue," said Ron. "One of you."

Harry nudged Sephiroth's side.

"You're better at it than I am," said Harry. "I have to see a real snake."

Sephiroth poked the metal snake head.

"This looks like a pretty real figurine of a snake," he said, trying to dodge speaking in snake.

" _Seph_."

Sephiroth waved his protest off, reaching for that dry rasp that circled his thoughts whenever he spoke in parseltongue. As if his thoughts were coated in scales and draped around his mind lazily, like an actual snake.

" _Hello_ ," he said. He paused, waiting for something.

"That's snakey language alright," said Ron, sounding unnerved. "Nothing's happening, though."

"Don't say hi," said Harry with a snort. "Tell it to open up."

"Oh," said Sephiroth. An embarrassed flush crawled up his neck. " _Open up_."

For a moment, his vision flooded white, filtering out the other shades. He took a half-step back, startled as the deep, deep subterranean rumble of stones and metal grating against itself. It was a far-off vibration in his fingertips, still rested against the snake facet head. He yanked away as the sink moved unexpectedly. A draft of chilly air blew the wisps of hair that had escaped from his braid from his face, a testimony of exactly how far the opening piping went down.

"It's down there?" said Hermione shakily.

"I'm going," said Harry.

Of course he wanted to go down into that long, dark hole. There was no saying what lay in wait for them, if the Basilisk was already aware of them. They could be going straight to their deaths in the form of haunting yellow eyes and hellish fangs. Sephiroth knew that wouldn't stop Harry, threats of death or injury never had in the past and wouldn't now. Nor would it stop the others, now that they knew what they were up against. What was at stake.

He saw Ginny, pale and lonely, hidden behind her flaming red hair. She was a victim in this mess, torn from her family. Suffering, if not dead. They would save her.

"Alright," Harry breathed out. "Let's go."

"I'll go first," Sephiroth interrupted.

"What? No!" Harry immediately, predictably, protested.

"I've survived the monster once," said Sephiroth. "And my body is hardier than the rest of you."

Genesis groaned and pushed him aside—then jumped straight down into the hole. Sephiroth let out a strangled squawk, lunging to catch him, but his fingers brushed right past his billowed school robes. Genesis disappeared into the blurred shadows below him. Seconds passed. Sephiroth held his breath, horrified.

"Come on down," Genesis called up to them. "It's safe."

A beat.

"Well, there are some cave ins, it looks like. We'll want to hurry in and out before it's closed off completely."

That got them moving with a purpose.

Harry rushed in before Sephiroth could, who followed closely. The sides of the piping were filthy, covered in something slippery and foul-smelling, and a food few degrees cooler than the rest of the castle. There were cracks and breaks in the piping on the way down, and Sephiroth understood why the chamber was so unstable. It was old, _very_ old, and there didn't appear to be any kind of magic keeping it in good repair.

They fell for what felt like an eternity. Sephiroth's heart was loud in his ears, the thrilling fear of falling rushing over and over again, despite the fact the sudden drop never came. Even after the slide leveled out and he landed on his feet, the ground seemed to still move, writhe, under his feet. The vertigo was like stepping off an elevator.

"We must be miles under the school," said Harry, sound impossibly loud in the dark, dark silence.

Genesis hushed him as a loud rumble echoed through the cavernous chamber, thumps and thuds of rocks falling from above crashing around them. It seemed Genesis's claims that the cave was highly unstable was vastly underwhelmed. The cavern was one wrong sneeze away from collapsing on itself.

It was only Harry, Genesis, and Sephiroth so far. Ron, Hermione, and Angeal had waited above so they could avoid accidentally crushing each other in the slide down.

"I think you'd all better stay up there," Genesis yelled up the piping.

The sudden noise seemed to anger the cavern, another groan sounding, followed by thousands of shards of rocks pattering against the damp, stony floor.

"Are you mad?" Ron bellowed down.

Sephiroth flinched at the volume of the noise, waiting for the roof to fall on top of them at any moment.

"Stop yelling," Genesis yelled back up the pipes.

"We're gonna die," said Sephiroth flatly.

Harry gripped his wrist tightly.

"No, we won't," he promised.

"It's very unstable down here," Harry called up the entrance. "If the cavern collapses, we'll need someone to get the professors."

"All three of us?" said Angeal doubtfully. "At least let me come down."

"You stay up there with Ron and Hermione," said Genesis.

"Oi," Ron protested weakly.

"I don't like it," said Hermione tersely, "but if it's that bad down there . . . too many people may just threaten the chamber's stability even more."

"But— _Ginny._ "

Ron, who was usually one of the first to point out when something was entirely insane, was desperate to save his sister. Despite how dire it all was, with the occasional falling of rocks, dust floating in the air and choking his lungs, Sephiroth understood his frustration. He was about to suggest they let Ron down, let him at least be there for when they rescued Ginny—or tried to, at least. The words never left his mouth.

The cavern gave a great protest. The little hairs on the back of Sephiroth's neck raised and he knew instantly they were in trouble. Deep trouble. The grating of a large rock sliding out of place was deafening, impossibly loud, and Sephiroth was trying to find out where, when, how it was going to fall so they could move _out of the way_.

He grabbed the back of Harry's shirt, grasped for where he thought Genesis was—

 _And missed_.

The lack of weight in his other hand caused him to over correct and he fell, dragging Harry with him. The rock fell, taking half the ceiling with it, the weight of the boulders sending phantom pain through Sephiroth's limbs and body. He could imagine it falling on him, crushing him, his bones snapping like dry branches, so weak to the force of nature.

He grappled for Harry to try and get him to safety, but Harry clung to him desperately, refused to let go, even when a part of the cavern ceiling landed close enough to send sharp debris flying. There were cuts and bruises over them both by the time the rumbles stopped and the ground ceased quaking, nothing left but the occasional tumble of gravel that sounded almost like an echo of the disaster before it. A rising dust cloud choked the air and made Sephiroth's lungs burn from the effort of breathing.

"Genesis?!"

Angeal's frightened voice raised above the strung, wired tension that no one else had been willing to interrupt. As if the slightest noise would cause the earth to revolt again.

There was a thick, raspy sound from the dark that might've been a voice, but Sephiroth wasn't sure. He wasn't aware his grip on Harry's arm had become painful until Harry was prying at his fingers. He released him instantly, guilt flooding him.

"Genesis?" Angeal yelled again.

"Here," came the rough, ragged voice. "Here. I'm here. I'm here."

Something was wrong.

"I'm here. Angeal, over here. I'm fine. I'm fine."

He kept repeating himself over and over. Reminding himself.

Sephiroth stumbled to his feet, feeling around for a landmark, a sign of where they were—where they'd been. Where Genesis currently was.

 _He couldn't see_.

The paralysis hit him at the most inopportune moments, sometimes. He was almost annoyed at himself, at the sudden crushing weight against his chest, at the way all the voices around him turned small and tinny and faraway. How his mouth was dry and cold and his fingers tingled, as if asleep.

A curse—an actual cussing curse, the horrified, frantic kind—filtered through his static mind.

"My legs," said Genesis. "It's okay, Angeal, it's okay. It's fine. I'm fine. I'm not bleeding too much. Just find a doctor. Find a doctor. I'm fine."

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Hermione was chanting, several octaves higher than normal. "We—need. We need a doctor. Yes. M-Madam Pomfrey."

All that came from Ron was a gibberish mix of a half a dozen curses and a few 'Merlin's bloody balls' thrown together, choked out all at once in shock.

"Where is he?!" Harry yelled.

He brushed against Sephiroth's side—latched to his arm out of habit. Sephiroth was pulled along unexpectedly, his heart leaping unpleasantly, and his breath was shocked back into rhythm. It didn't feel right or comfortable, but he took the feeling of realness when it came.

"We're blocked off," said Angeal. "The collapse walled you in."

"We've got some walls up, don't we?" said Genesis, sounding loopy.

Ron whimpered.

"Why isn't Cloud coming?" said Sephiroth—quiet and small all of sudden, realizing something was out of place. Not right. No one was coming. Cloud should have come sooner. He should have known something would happen. Where was Cloud?

Harry's hand squeezed his own. The world anchored and lodged at that point of contact.

"We're going on ahead," said Harry.

"What?!" Angeal shouted. "Not alone! Just—wait. Genesis is injured, he needs a medic and—and—"

His voice sputtered off.

"Ginny's still in danger," said Genesis, so quiet and frail that Sephiroth wasn't sure Harry could even hear him. "Needs help."

"I—yes," Angeal murmured in defeat. "She does. She . . ."

"Get him to the hospital," said Harry. "Hermione—Ron—help him. Sephiroth and I will find Ginny."

Alive, hopefully, went unsaid but they all clearly heard it, unbidden in the back of their minds. Ginny was small and timid and unsure of herself, not good at making friends and unlucky. Maybe Sephiroth saw a bit of himself in her awkward nature.

"I'll . . . I'll look for Cloud," said Ron. "See if he can help with this . . . mess. Clear some of the rocks. So you can—can get back through. And, Harry—"

"See you in a bit."

Harry's words were an awful marriage of bravado and fear. It was all wrapped up in that hard layer of whatever determination drove him forward when things were hopeless or terrifying, when actual walls of fire stopped him. When monsters threatened him. When people said no, but he knew what was right.

They left Angeal, Ron, and Hermione scrambling to care for Genesis, who was deep enough in shock he wasn't aware quite how endangered his life was, into the deep, cold darkness. It was silent in a deafening kind of way, as though Sephiroth's very thoughts roared through the winding corridor they followed. His footsteps bounced off the walls, a declaration of their presence to whatever creature might lay in wait for them.

Long, rasping, fangs scraped against fangs. Sephiroth remembered the haunting yellowed eyes from age. He remembered the madness, the fury, the confusion. So much confusion through the madness. As if the creature, the Basilisk, itself didn't know why it was so angry. It just _was—_ it was angry and hungry, and its master had orders for it to follow. It followed flawlessly and while Sephiroth still stood, alive and well, it wasn't without sacrifice. He'd seen his death for one frozen moment. And that would be the last thing he'd ever truly see.

So much confusion, though.

Now wasn't the time to wonder why.

He wondered anyway.

Slytherin's monster, the Basilisk, tasked with serving those of Slytherin's bloodline. And the Heir of Slytherin was in direct line to command the serpent. Naturally, it would comply.

They stopped, prompted by Harry, who tugged on Sephiroth's hand.

"What is it?" he asked, tense despite hearing and sensing nothing in distance. Or perhaps because, since the Basilisk had proven good at working around his senses in the past.

"There's a door," said Harry. "Another one locked with parseltongue."

"Do you want me to . . .?"

"No," Harry replied, "let me this time."

It took a few tries, but eventually his words hissed out, like dry leaves rubbed against dry leaves.

" _Open up_."

The deep grating of smoothed, worn stone was that of an old, opening door. It was reminiscent to the sound of the chamber opening in the girl's bathroom. A cool draft of air blew in, musky and damp, smelling oily. He thought he smelled old incense, the scent somehow familiar, lingering at the tip of his mind, but tantalizingly out of reach. For something coming from a chamber that had been closed off for fifty years, it smelled oddly _nice_.

Harry's intake of breath sucked away the silence into a vacuum. He'd seen something, there was something in front of them, something shocking, and all Sephiroth saw was a mess of grays and more grays and more gray—

"Ginny!"

Sephiroth saw a slip of a girl, hair like a puddle of blood under her head, pale and still. His mind painted a grotesquely beautiful image of death.

Harry dropped Sephiroth's hand to run forward, Sephiroth's legs rooted to the ground. The smell, the air, the death—he'd thought he could handle it all. He'd thought wrong. He saw that unique and irreplaceable bulb, pretty and fragile, fleeting in life. Broken by his own hands. Now wasn't the time. There was never a time, really, but now really wasn't the time.

Funny how his mind never really listened to him.

Sometimes he felt he was just tugged along, something else making the decisions for him. Something else knowing better for him.

When all he wanted to know was if Ginny was alive, alright, he could only see the fractured memories falling, falling, forever out of grasp.

"Ginny! Don't be dead—please don't be dead—"

Something skittered against the ground. Thin and wooden—Harry's wand. The spark of outraged magic confirmed it. The wand itself couldn't believe Harry would toss it aside.

"Ginny, please wake up."

Sephiroth started towards Harry, opening his mouth, feeling the faint, struggling wisps of life clinging desperately inside Ginny Weasley. She was still alive, but only just.

"She won't wake."

Sephiroth didn't know if he stopped, or couldn't move, or if he was frozen, or petrified. He and Harry and Ginny—they were alone. They were _alone_. There was no one else, no other heartbeats, not even the solemn and slow drumbeat of death that belonged to the Basilisk. There simply couldn't be another voice because they _were alone_.

"Harry—what?" Sephiroth was hearing things. He was hearing things again. But this wasn't Aerith, this wasn't himself, what was this—

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" asked Harry, clearly not seeing the stricken expression on Sephiroth's face. The feeling was wordless and empty, yet _there_ , and Sephiroth trusted it. He trusted it to not trust that voice. "She's not—she's not—"

 _She's not dead, Harry_ , Sephiroth wanted to say. He didn't. He didn't think he could speak. (What was wrong with him?!)

"It's—it's Tom Riddle," said Harry breathlessly. "Are you a ghost?"

 _Wrong, misplaced, mistaken, missing piece of the puzzle, this wasn't a ghost_. Sephiroth knew ghosts, he'd spoken to them since going blind, he knew what the felt like. That wasn't a ghost. It was a disembodied voice, thankfully not in Sephiroth's head, but the relief was fleeting and gone faster than a snowflake on warm hand.

"A memory," said the voice, melding with the sacred silence of the chamber. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

"You've got to help me, Tom."

He wasn't going to help.

"We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk. . . . I don't know where it is, but it could be along any moment. . . . Please, help me."

 _He wasn't going to help_.

"Harry, get away from there!"

Then Sephiroth could move, rushed forward, and the sudden little chuckle chilled him.

"You brought along a little angel," said Tom Riddle. "A little broken angel. Should you have taken him to this place?"

"I brought—that's not a—he's my brother," said Harry. There was healthy wariness in his tones now and Sephiroth was happier for it. "Sephiroth."

He seemed to realize he'd cast aside his wand earlier.

"My wand—did you see—"

The wand crackled in the air, sickly magic protesting, hovering as if by a levitation spell. Except there was no magic to be found and it just hung there, suspended, as though invisible fingers played with it. Tom Riddle had found Harry's discarded wand.

"Thanks," said Harry, sighing in relief.

"You really shouldn't have brought him here," said Tom. "I look at him and think you shouldn't even be around him."

"Listen," snapped Harry, patience waning. "We've got to go! If the basilisk comes—"

"It won't come until it is called," Riddle replied idly. Harry's wand twirled in his fingers. "You know, I would think tears fell from heaven when your little angel was born—if there was a heaven, naturally. Such things are uncertain ideas."

"It won't come—what d'you mean? And stop—stop with my brother," said Harry. "I mean it. Stop. He's my brother."

"So you say," said Riddle in amusement.

Protest surged in Sephiroth's gut.

"I _am_ his brother," he said. "Good as."

There was only a hum of reply, intoning Riddle clearly put no stock into what they believed or felt.

"We don't have time for this," Harry growled. "Look, give me my wand, I might need it—"

"You won't be needing it."

That was the clincher. The final straw. There was no friend or even casual ally to be found in Tom Riddle. Not even close to it.

"Harry," Sephiroth repeated himself earlier, "get away from him."

"Oh no," said Tom Riddle, agonizingly calm and lightly amused. "I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter. For the chance to see you. To speak with you."

"Well, that's nice, you chatted already," said Sephiroth, "and now that's out of your system—we'll be off. Nice meeting you. We'll talk again—never."

"We're going to talk now," said Riddle, and the amusement was all gone. He didn't sound angry, only firm. Iron-firm. Unshakable. As if he was confident, without a doubt, he'd get his way. As if he already knew the outcome.

"How about no?" said Sephiroth. "Let's leave now. Harry, get Ginny."

"How did Ginny get like this?" Harry asked instead.

"Harry—"

"Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle, relishing the opportunity to speak. Sephiroth was sure no small amount of his pleasure came from Sephiroth's own irritation. "And quite a long, _long_ story. I suppose starting at the beginning would be a drag, wouldn't it? I'll begin at a more manageable time, I think."

"Get on with it!" Harry snarled.

"The real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger," said Riddle, his voice bubbled with restrained humor.

"What are you talking about?"

"The diary," Riddle laughed, as though it was the funniest thing in the world. "My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes—how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school in secondhand robes and books, how—"

Riddle paused as he choked down another gleeful laugh.

"How she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her . . . It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven year old girl," sighed Riddle. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. 'No one's ever understood me like you, Tom . . . I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in . . . It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket' . . ."

Riddle's laugh was unhinged and mirthless, going through the moves and sounds without the feeling, as if he was just mimicking a human piece by piece. It was a revolting facsimile of laughter, making Sephiroth's skin prickle as though thousands of ants crawled through his veins.

They'd been all wrong, in the end. None of their guesses came close to the truth. To the diary, to Riddle, to Ginny Weasley. To how deeply and truly mad, evil, that the 'heir of Slytherin' was, how far he would go.

To think, all that time, he'd been so close. Within grasp. _In their grasp_ , for a short while. Harry had spoken to Riddle, Sephiroth had spoken to him, had held the diary in his hands. Had Sephiroth, or Harry, or anyone else in their group, been given the diary, would they be the one to lay on the ground, cold and still, instead of Ginny?

"I grew powerful," said Riddle with so much relish, so much triumph. "Far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her . . ."

A possession of the body, because Riddle had lacked a true one, and Ginny was the victim. It came together, stitched slowly in Riddle's words, until the truth, the full, whole, terrible truth, was laid bare. Ginny opening the chamber, Ginny killing the roosters, Ginny spattered in blood as she left the first message on the wall. And the serpent had obeyed her, Tom speaking through her. It had listened.

 _Why_?

"'I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!'"

Riddle was _sick_.

"And why did you want to meet me?"

Harry's voice coursed with anger. Neither himself or Sephiroth knew why Riddle wanted to meet him, but if Harry had his way, Riddle would regret ever hearing his name. Sephiroth would take joy in aiding his brother.

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you. Your whole _fascinating_ history."

"Like what?"

Ginny's life was getting weaker. Sephiroth crept toward her, unsure if Riddle was even paying attention to him. No sharp reprimand or demand that he stopped moving came, and he allowed himself the desperate hope that Riddle was preoccupied enough in his monologue to notice Sephiroth.

He didn't have much in way of healing, knowing little more than a couple rudimentary potions that Madam Pomfrey had brewed many times. Potions in an ancient chamber wouldn't help him. Instead, he reached out for Ginny's smaller, cold hand and gripped it weakly. Her pulse was slow and sluggish in her veins. His magic stretched out tentatively. He'd never used his magic like this before, on a person. Usually he'd used it to "feel" out his surroundings.

Ginny's breath evened out a little. Her heartbeat was a little stronger. He didn't know if Riddle noticed, but at the very least, she was no longer so close to death.

It came so suddenly Sephiroth could hardly control himself. Like a truck to the gut, nausea struck him, sweat sprang over his forehead, his mouth filled with saliva. There was a gag choked in the back of his throat.

"It doesn't settle well, doesn't it?" said Riddle, his voice a purr in the darkness. "Imagine how little Miss Weasley felt, all of that flowing in her. Controlling her. Becoming her."

Sephiroth's hand was lead, stuck to Ginny's.

" _Give me more_."

 _More._

 _More._

 _More._

Music saved him. A soothing lullaby, unexpected and welcomed all at once, lilting and familiar and so, so very precious it nearly brought tears to his eyes. His teeth had been clenched so hard his jaw ached, suppressing the urge to vomit, and he felt drained. Ginny still wasn't dying, but he couldn't say the same about himself. Helping Ginny, pouring himself into her thoughtlessly, must have opened a path for Riddle to steal life from himself.

And the thing that stopped it was _music_. From—what?

It was everywhere. In the stones, in the air, wrapped around Sephiroth's body and reverberating in his heart. Heat filled the room and a fleeting memory sprang up, of a red and gold bird, sickly at the time. It had trilled so beautifully and sadly, before bursting into flames, signaling its death. But—that was right—it was a phoenix. Fawkes the phoenix.

Dumbledore had sent his regards from afar.

Riddle was laughing again. The sound tore into Sephiroth's ears and for a second, he wished he'd gone deaf instead of blind.

"This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?"

The Sorting Hat was apparently there, too?

"To business, Harry. Twice—in your past, in my future—we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk . . . the longer you stay alive."

Harry's words were meant to cut, meant to hurt, vicious and merciless. His mother saved him, his common mother from a common family, defeated Voldemort, and Sephiroth really wanted to know when Voldemort became part of the equation. He was missing something and it probably had to do with his eyes.

"You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding, you're ugly, you're foul—"

"So," Riddle interrupted tensely, his humor void and dead. "Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now . . . there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. And your little angel . . . He's a wrinkle, I'll admit, unexpected. Without him, I'd imagine we'd even be the only two parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike . . ."

Of everything he said, Sephiroth enjoyed the last bit the least. He didn't want Riddle's physical appearance anywhere near his brother's.

"It was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me, after all. That's all I wanted to know."

He was finally, finally reaching the end of his playtime amusement. Sephiroth sensed it deep within his bones. He recognized that kind of final speech. (He didn't want to know why he recognized it).

"Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him . . ."

There were echoing footsteps, footsteps that belonged to something that felt a lot like a living body. But Ginny was still alive and breathing, unlike what Riddle had said. He couldn't be solid yet. Not yet. Though he _had_ taken energy from Sephiroth, the lingering churning in his stomach testimony to it.

" _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_."

Riddle wasn't speaking to Slytherin, nor did he believe Slytherin was greatest. Maybe he believed Slytherin was the greatest of the four founders, but there was no real respect in his voice. It was a lie.

"Run!" Harry yelled.

Sephiroth didn't need to be told twice, running towards Harry's voice, and then after his footfalls as he, too, sprinted off away from whatever Riddle was doing. Slabs of stone shifted and rumbled, like the door, like the cavern. The opening hissed, muscles uncoiled, scales on scales scraped against damp marble. The ground shook under their feet when the king of serpents left its home, the drumbeat heart and whispering scales all there was to hear from it.

The furious, confused voice had been silenced. It was hungry. So hungry. It was promised food and hunt and more food and never delivered. It was _so hungry_ after _so long_. So much time alone and hungry. A silent, deadly storm.

It was hungry, and Sephiroth and Harry would make a delicious snack.

Sephiroth overtook and snatched Harry's shoulder as he tripped. What would have been a disastrous tumble turned into an awkward skipping-hop as he was hauled along by Sephiroth. He had no idea where he was going, weak vision filled with shadows and blurry shapes, but as long as it wasn't into a wall, they were doing more than abysmal.

"This way!" Harry tugged him left.

They were sloshing through water.

"Come on!"

"Stop speaking," said Sephiroth, dragging his fingers against the rounded walls of the sewer they were running through. It was slimy and nasty, but he would be able to find his way around if he could memorize the patterns of the walls. "I can—distract it. It can't hurt me, it's greatest weapon is its eyes and I can't see them—"

"'M _not_ leaving—"

" _This isn't the time for arguing_ ," said Sephiroth frantically. "It's listening to Riddle. Take him out, help Ginny—I'll keep the basilisk away from you. _Trust me_."

There was no time for deliberation and really, Sephiroth wasn't asking for permission. He pushed Harry down a corridor he knew the serpent wasn't going up or down and told him to _keep quiet_ and head back to Riddle. Harry, whether out of shock or actual faith in Sephiroth, followed his wish for once. He slowly and quietly crept down that corridor, while Sephiroth barreled along the same one, the basilisk hot on his heels.

Riddle's laugh echoed down as Sephiroth ran, his words filtering down the corridors as though a mischievous spirit carried them along.

" _Farewell, my broken, sad angel. May your flightless wings carry you to some semblance of peace after the light's left your eyes._ "

He ducked around another corner, the basilisk slamming into the far wall when its weight and speed proved too much for a sharp turn. Its voice was still silent, wordless. There was none of the fury and confusion and hunger. Sephiroth thought of it being controlled for years, locked away in the dark and alone—forgotten, reviled for its nature. He almost pitied it.

What would Hagrid say to such a creature?

The big man was so warm and kind to all things. He'd try his hardest to help the thing. He'd probably feed it, chase away the ordinary chickens so his newest beast could try and live as peacefully as it could manage.

The thought of Hagrid brought a pang to Sephiroth's chest. He missed Hagrid.

Sephiroth couldn't run forever. The gutters would only stretch so long, the serpent would only lag behind so far. It was a miracle he hadn't tripped yet. Perhaps—maybe it was time to end it. Sephiroth's hand burned at the memory of a hilt grasped within it. It would take hardly any effort to swing around and cleanly decapitate the quiet, deadly beast.

Lost to its nature, mindless as it was, it was a mercy.

Wasn't it?

It had killed. It killed Myrtle, those other unnamed students. It murdered.

It had never eaten them.

How hungry must the beast be?

Sephiroth cut off his trailing thoughts, unsure where his deliberation came from, and whirled. He felt for his weapon, for Masamune, and—

Nothing.

His heart was divided. The piece of him, maybe it was Hagrid's fault, didn't hate the creature for being driven by its instincts and Riddle's evil intentions.

Everything stopped. Sephiroth wasn't running, facing the creature, hand outstretched. All he could see was a fuzzy mess of what was probably scales of some color. He tried to remember beyond the lamp-like eyes what the Basilisk had really looked like.

Bright green scales. Preened. Proud.

Not an 'it.' A she.

That was right. The voice was a _she_.

The Basilisk waited for him to die.

Sephiroth waited for her to realize her gaze wouldn't kill him.

They were at an impasse.

" _It's dark_ ," said Sephiroth, parseltongue rolling out. " _Dark. Can't see."_

The whisper was there, the faintest voice. The words were unintelligible and, try as he might, Sephiroth couldn't figure them out.

The basilisk went to attack again. Sephiroth stumbled back, already feeling fangs piercing his body and tearing him apart in powerful jaws—he waited for demise.

And waited.

And waited.

Dry scales brushed against Sephiroth's hand and he clamped his teeth over a screech.

" _Hungry . . . ssssoo hungry. . . . Hungry . . . I want to . . . kill . . . to eat . . . blood . . . hungry . . ._ "

So much confusion. Hunger. Where was the anger, in all that confusion?

" _Lost . . . dark . . . can't see? . . . Not right . . . hunt . . . need to hunt . . . not right . . ."_

For a moment, Sephiroth wondered if he'd broken the Basilisk's brain. And because he was pushed against a wall, literally, with the Basilisk's fangs close enough for him to feel the warm breaths against his skin, he decided there was no better time to push his luck.

" _Sleep_ ," he said in parseltongue. He'd never really thought of the ability as a gift, but now—now, maybe, it would save his life. And the lives of his brother and Ginny, and many others. " _Sleep_."

" _Ssoo hungry_ ," the basilisk's weak voice trailed off.

" _I'll bring food_ ," Sephiroth promised. By some miracle, his voice didn't shake. He felt more in control than ever. He didn't know if it was from madness or pure confidence, but he wasn't afraid, either. It was as if something fueled him, but instead of murmuring doubts and confusing words in his ears, it was aiding him. " _Just sleep a while longer. I'll feed you. You'll hunt. There'll be blood. . . . Er—lots of blood. I promise_."

" _The heir calls_ ," the basilisk snarled suddenly. " _Speaker calls. The heir. Salazar Slytherin's heir. Salazar's blood. Salazar. Salazar."_

Just what was Salazar Slytherin, to the basilisk? A creator? A father? A friend? How long had it been since Slytherin left Hogwarts, and the basilisk with it?

Tom Riddle's influence was calling out, though.

" _He—he lies,_ " said Sephiroth, grasping for straws. " _There is no loyalty in him. He doesn't respect Salazar. He doesn't think Salazar greatest. He thinks himself greatest. He's a fake. A shadow."_

But there was a scent. Sephiroth felt the realization more than heard it, and he had no idea how to convince the basilisk to listen to himself anymore than it should listen to Tom Riddle. He was no heir to Slytherin. He didn't even come from that world. Salazar Slytherin's blood most certainly didn't run through his veins.

" _Hunt . . . kill . . . must hunt . . . want to kill . . ._ "

If Tom Riddle had a scent, had a body, granted by Sephiroth and Ginny's combined lifeforces, then—then he was blood. He was blood. He was prey. Sephiroth couldn't see but there was still red there, blood, beckoning him. No peaceful end. No speaking this out. They would kill, kill, kill—the dark, taunting laughter of that other him, that older version of himself, only egged him on.

His hand against the basilisk's side, scales rough and sharp against his palm, he walked alongside the beast. His feet echoed strangely in his ears. He felt in control. Deceptively in control. Wasn't he going to kill? Killing was usually not part of his conscious wishes.

But Tom Riddle—

That flash of fury.

Voldemort.

One and the same.

He really, really wanted them dead. _No matter what the cost_.

" _Hunt them_ ," he whispered. " _Hunt Voldemort. Hunt the liar. The betrayer. Hunt and kill_."

They stepped out into the chamber again. Tom Riddle's voice was frantic and rapid, like static in the background, and Sephiroth—Sephiroth cared very little. He didn't care about Tom Riddle. He was angry, he was _so angry_ , and there was that other feeling again, that confusing, crushing, squeezing in his chest that made it hard to breathe. But it was an afterthought.

Tom Riddle had threatened Harry, his brother. He'd gotten Moaning Myrtle killed fifty years ago, murdered innocent students, injured several people in the school that year. He's stolen Sephiroth's vision from him and because of that, he'd probably never truly see again.

Really, Sephiroth just wanted Tom Riddle dead. Not out of irrational fury or uncontrollable hate, but—simply from outrage and justice. He wanted Tom Riddle to never harm an innocent life again.

Not a human or even a basilisk.

" _Hunt and kill him_ ," he said.

And the Basilisk—

The king of serpents obeyed.

It was the diary that started it all. But the diary was useless now, discarded, empty of a soul. Ginny was stirring, Harry hovering over her, his heart racing.

"Sephiroth . . .?" he sounded painfully uncertain.

She wasn't going to hurt anyone, Sephiroth wanted to assure him. At least, anyone other than Tom Riddle.

The Basilisk lunged—Harry shouted, "No!" and threw himself over Ginny—and Tom Riddle _screamed_.

Bones crunched, real bones. Blood scented the air, and Sephiroth wanted to throw up again. The Basilisk _thrummed_ with pleasure, a mangled mess of flesh swallowed down its gullet. Whatever dark magic Tom Riddle still possessed was devoured by the deadly venom of the serpent.

Tom Riddle was gone.

"It's over," said Sephiroth, sighing. That feeling squeezed in his chest again. It was almost physically painful—but not. "It's all over."

"Is—is it going to attack us?" asked Harry warily.

"I don't think so . . .?"

Sephiroth reached out for the scaled side of the Basilisk. Satisfaction hummed in the air. He didn't know how Basilisks fed, how much food they needed, but one ( _human_ , yes human, because Riddle had been human. He'd been an evil and twisted one, but still a person) human couldn't possibly be enough to sate her appetite. Right?

Or was it simply the blood and hunt that fed her?

Sephiroth needed Hagrid.

"Ginny?" said Harry, holding her shoulder. "I—I don't know if she's alright. We need to get her out of here. I've got—I've got my wand back, too."

He was in shock.

The Basilisk's tail thumped on the ground.

Harry jumped.

"Let's—let's get out of here?" he said weakly.

"Let's," Sephiroth agreed.

"What about the basilisk—oh," said Harry, cutting himself off.

The slide of scales on stone toward the opening where she'd originally come from told Sephiroth she was returning to her slumber. A curl of final movement echoed, her last lingering bits of pure, utter, _contentedness_ filtering through a final whisper of, " _Farewell, speakers_."

 _So polite_ , Sephiroth thought blankly.

"I don't think she'll be leaving," said Sephiroth. "Not . . . Not unless someone calls her."

"That's leaving a lot to chance," said Harry cautiously.

"Maybe Hagrid'll know better," said Sephiroth.

" _Hagrid_ ," gasped Harry. "We've got to—Dumbledore and—he's innocent and—"

"Let's go," said Sephiroth wearily.

He didn't make it two steps. The ground melted under his feet, or maybe his legs collapsed, and he was caught by strong arms. The smell of leather mixed with the musk of the chamber.

"What," said Cloud Strife in quite an unhappy tone, "are you three doing?"

Sephiroth conveniently passed out.

* * *

 **A/N: Well now! Here we are again with another update. I'm alive. Barely, but alive. The past few months have been... trying, but hey. I've managed to start making time for writing! That's something.**

 **The next chapter will probably be the last for the second year! So hopefully everything will be wrapped up for the second year nicely. :D**

 **As for the start of the third year... I'll save that for the next AN. I've already got plans and stuff for it, and I'm REALLY excited to get into it. I'm hoping the third year will be a bit more cheerful and cathartic after all this damn angst.**

 **(And yes. Sephiroth's vision is permanently like this...Sorry not sorry? What can I say, I love tormenting my favorites.)  
**

 **I can't remember what reviews I've replied to and haven't, it's been so long. HOWEVER! *flails limbs frantically* JustAReaderSo THANKS FOR POINTING OUT THAT MISTAKE! I'm going to edit that out ASAP. That's the issue with already knowing what's going on in these stories.**

 **To all reviewers, followers, and people who've favorited my stories:** _ **Thank you.**_ **Truly. I do this first and foremost because it amuses me, and because I love writing, but it's nice to see other people also enjoy this stuff. I hope you guys'll stick through the longer updates in the future! :D**

 **Till next time~~**


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